Mahogany
by LynniePearl
Summary: No Spoilers. Series of one shots. Mild-Heavy smut warning. Rated M for sexual situations and swearing. B/C, a kitchen table, and the throwing down of gauntlets.
1. Mahogany

**A/N. I own nothing. Less than nothing actually and certainly not Gossip Girl or any of its characters. They belong to Cecily von Ziegesar, Josh Schwartz and the CW.  
**

** Hi. First story I've had the nerve to publish in a while and ever in this fandom. It is unbeta'd so all mistakes are of my own making. **

** 'Irish' or 'Irishing' a coffee is simply coffee+alcohol. Please R&R!**

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I'm sitting across from him at the breakfast nook in our brownstone, my right leg crossed over my left at the knee. He's pretending to read the paper he's spread on the table in front on him.

I'm not fooled.

I consider slowly uncrossing and crossing my legs to draw his attention to my newly smooth calves – a part of my body I damn well know he can't resist- but my little pink robe was made to _display_ certain _**ass**_ets and if I scoot back the inch it would require to maintain my balance during such a maneuver… bare butt would meet cold mahogany.

Yes, I _know_. _Sooo trashy_. But the Basstard is wearing the D&G cologne he knows _**I**_ damn well can't resist. And he's towel dried his hair into a disheveled mess that he hates but he knows hits me between my thighs. So my La Perlas might have _accidentally_ found their way into the vase my mother gave us last Christmas when he was searching shoulder deep in the refrigerator for that last truffle I just _had_ to have.

I settle instead for tilting my head slightly and softly massaging a non existent kink in my neck. I let my eyes fall shut and catch my bottom lip between my teeth. "Mmmmmm…." I moan softly and hear him choke on the coffee I refuse to let him Irish. It's 9:00 a.m. for God sake - alcohol need not make an appearance until dinner …or my mother does.

I feel his glare on me and moan once more to remind him of the solo act I loudly performed for his benefit in the shower this morning. I hear him set his mug down on the table roughly as he clears his throat and I smirk triumphantly until I open my eyes and realize the coward has retreated behind his precious Wall Street Journal.

"_Darling_…" I say sweetly, leaning forward to prop my elbow on the table so that I can rest my chin atop my palm and conveniently display my fuller-than-usual cleavage. We do _not_ call each other sickeningly sweet pet names- mostly because he detests them. I've officially laid down the gauntlet for the third morning in a row.

He sighs almost inaudibly. Thirty seconds, a minute passes. He hesitates just long enough that I begin to think he's giving in, that I've finally won. I lick my lips unconsciously in anticipation. It's been three days- the longest we've ever been without having sex- and I'm beginning to feel it. _Really_ feel it. My nipples (the traitorous **bitches** that they are) respond eagerly at the slightest glance.

So what if it might have been my idea to withhold sex until he agrees to stop making _that_ demand? So what if I've only lasted this long because it was that damn book he quoted in telling me I couldn't?

Folding his paper shield in half he discards it on the table next to my mother's vase.

"Yes, _baby_?" he replies a smirk playing at this lips, eyes locked on mine challengingly.

Alright, fine. Mostly because _**we**_detest them. Violently. I make a mental note to accidentally refer to his penis as Princess Sofia the next time he dares to put me on speaker phone at the office. During an investors meeting. With his father there.

"Would you be a dear and please pass the milk?" I ask innocently as I play with a strand of my hair. He reaches out an arm - well toned mostly from holding my legs around his waist in the shower … and against the windows of our penthouse in Paris … and from that one (twenty) time(s) in Serena's foyer closet…- and nudges the carafe across the table with his nimble fingers to within reaching distance.

_Oh, those fingers._ My gaze lingers on his strong hands. I rake my eyes up his muscled arms to his broad, hairy chest._ Oh, God. _

I drop my hand abruptly from my hair. My silk robe slides a little further down my left shoulder but I don't attempt to readjust it because the jerk has noticed my panicky movements and is _snickering… __**smugly**_.

To reign in my galloping fantasies I think of Nate and how his chest was always a little too hairless, his fingers too fumbly, his hands too narrow.

My blood pressure finally drops below 200 again. I dare to raise my eyes to his to thank him – and maybe lick non-existent jam from the contours of my lips - and discover his attention is otherwise engaged.

Belatedly I realize I'm still tilted forward at an angle that affords him a spectacular view of my breasts. His fingers are still wrapped around the forgotten carafe; his gaze fixed where silk overlaps silk between my breasts.

A muscle in his jaw twitches.

My traitorous bitches make their first, but certainly not their last, appearance of the day.

I attempt to conjugate French verbs in my head. I try to call upon the deep breathing techniques I've learned recently. If I give in now he'll think he's right. That his precious book is right. And I'll _lose_. I try reciting in alphabetical order every grade school teacher I've ever had.

Before I even get to Mrs. Buckman he's swept the entire contents of the table onto the floor and my legs are somehow wrapped around his waist.

"Eleanor's vase!" I cry between fiery kisses because I'm not entirely sure who's in the process of loosing and I need a few seconds of reprieve to figure it out. He makes a sound low in this throat somewhere between a growl and a moan.

Bare butt meets cool mahogany he as sets me on the table but I don't notice because he's kneeing my legs apart to settle himself there.

"You'll be the death of me woman" he pants as he leans his forehead against mine, eyes closed, "I'll buy you another damn vase."

He draws in a shaky breath and needs my upper thighs.

"She'll notice" I can't stop myself from replying even though I've decided he was the one about to lose - and I really couldn't care less about the vase. I shift closer and press myself against him. His erection prods where its most been missed the last three days and a small whimper escapes me before I can stifle it. He pulls back to smirk at me.

"Oh, no", I say "uh un. Game over- I've already won."

He rolls his eyes at me.

I glare back at him.

He cocks a brow disbelievingly.

I shake my head emphatically.

He rolls his eyes again. I make a mental note to somehow include his grandmother in the aforementioned phone call.

"That," he gestures briefly at the rubble around us, "was me."

"This…" he wraps one arm around my waist and tangles his free hand in my hair. I moan a little and arch my back as he slowly grinds himself against me, "was all you."

I scoff. I pull back intent on arguing – something I know he finds me sexy while doing- when my panties, soaked and tangled in freesia stems, catch my eye. I giggle a little because he's right and they'd probably be just as wet if I had left them on.

"You're right - stalemate."

I shrug my shoulders – silk slipping further down my left one as I do – and untangle myself from his hold. As I inch back on the table I flick my gaze between us at his prominent erection. He groans and I smile sweetly.

"Compromise?" he asks pleadingly. And I'm pleased because he's been the first to give in … _twice._

Not to mention he's only ever uttered that word in my presence.

And I'm horny as hell.

I nod. He drags me to him roughly and franticly covers my lips with his before I can vocalize my answer. My nipples tingle, my centre pulses and I briefly wonder if his damn book _is_ right and I can come from a just kiss after all.

"Mmm" I mumble against his full lips and push at his chest.

"What _now_?" and he's so cute when he's annoyed that for a split second I consider telling him I ate the last truffle two days ago.

"No more book" I tell him.

He sighs. I decide if this man rolls his brown eyes at me one more time I'll- but I don't have to think up any more crazy amendments to my phone call because he kisses me tenderly then.

"Fine" he acquiesces touching his forehead to mine.

I kiss him. He tangles a hand in my hair and cradles my head as he slowly guides me down once more to the table. I barely notice the cool wood on my practically bare shoulders because I'm flooded by the memory of the first time he gently made love to me while glass windows stood guard.

He stops suddenly, easing his weight off me to capture my left hand in his right.

"No more hyphen" he demands playing with the bands on my fourth finger.

I sigh exaggeratedly and roll _my_ eyes.

"Fine" I mumble almost incoherently.

He brings our still intertwined fingers to his lips. I raise my right hand and push a lock of dark hair out of his eyes. He smiles lovingly and I tug him down to kiss him thoroughly but he pulls back once more.

"No hyphen" he states in a tone of voice reminiscent of the 17 year-old playboy I fell in love with all those years ago as he spreads his broad palm across my rounded abdomen.

Tears spring to my eyes. Damn hormones - and damn his stupid know it all book!

I nod because I love him and he's protectively rubbing my swollen belly.

Besides, 'Mrs. and Mr. Blair Waldorf' has a nice hyphen-free ring to it.

I make a mental note to make him all too aware of his slip up later… _much_ later.

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**_A/N The 'book' is meant to resemble What to Expect When You're Expecting (which I also do not own). Pregnancy facts are mostly made up for the purpose of this story. - Lynne_**


	2. Cotton

**A/N Gossip Girl belongs to Cecily von Ziegesar, Josh Schwartz and the Cw. Prequel(ish) companion piece to Mahogany, slightly different tone and mood as it's written from Chuck's P.O.V. Can stand alone. Please take a few seconds to let me know how this turned out! Oh, and unbeta'd, so the horrendous spelling is my own. (I had some internet issues while attempting to upload this... it deleted and kept re-posting itself)  
**

_**Dedicated and special thanks to my lovely lady Cher F.F**_

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"Sorry we're late, sorry we're late!" Lily breathes as she glides into the chair our waiter dutifully pulls back for her "We, uh, had some … last minute issues with the party."

She flicks a guilty glance at my father from beneath her lashes. He _blushes_ and I choke on my scotch.

Blair pats my back as I struggle to draw in air. My lungs finally work again and I feel her fingers linger at the nape of my neck. Out of the corner of my eye I see her catch her bottom lip between her teeth and her eyes glaze over as she stares at my lips.

I turn my head and wiggle my eyebrows suggestively.

She pulls my hair.

"That's quite alright Mrs. Bass" Blair replies cheerily as she turns to smile at Lily "I do hope everything is coming together nicely? If there is anything at all that _Charles_ and I could assist you with, you simply must let us know."

Her eyes shoot daggers at me as she emphasizes my full first name. I think I've heard her say it all of three times now- none of them with a smile.

"Yeah Lil," I drawl huskily (in a tone of voice that I know leaves Blair slick and wet) as I sneak a hand under the table and lightly trace circles on her inner thigh. She makes a startled gasp/cough and I inch my fingers higher. She clears her throat as she reaches for her water goblet and angrily glances in my direction.

I chuckle softly.

She pinches the back of my hand.

"Oh, no, no, no, no" Lily states firmly, raising her glass of wine (that the soon-to-be-_**ex**_waiter nearly spilt down the front of her blouse because he couldn't keep his eyes in his fucking head and off Blair's legs) to her lips. "The guests of honor are just that; guests."

She nods at Bart who nods back solemnly.

"Speaking of which," my father says as he raises his scotch glass "a toast. Congratulations on your second anniversary."

"To Mr. and Mrs. Bass" Lily adds as she raises her glass to her husbands and smiles at us fondly.

"Mr. B_**ass**_ and Mrs. Bass-Waldorf" Blair corrects politely before turning to clink her glass against mine and smirk smugly at me.

I lean in and breathe a kiss to her neck. She shivers and scowls at me.

"Oh, yes. That's right" Lily replies distractedly as she attempts to flag down the waiter. He spots her small wave and hurries over to stand next to Blair_. _

He bows his head to look down her dress as she reads off her order.

I stare a hole through the douche bag's forehead.

She takes a breath to read off my order as well–something she knows I hate- and her breasts strain against the silk of her dress. He licks his lips. I contemplate murder and clear my throat loudly as I sling a possessive arm around her shoulders. He pales and scampers off to fill our orders.

"So Blair …" Bart begins once shit for brains is gone, "what is this mysterious anniversary gift my son tells me you've got planned?"

I narrowly manage not to spray the sip of scotch I've just taken out of my nose.

Blair digs the heel of her Jimmy Choo into my instep.

"It's not entirely decided yet, Mr. Bass" she replies sparing me an icy look.

Mr. and Mrs. Bass share a questioning look before sending it my way.

"Small disagreement" I state simply.

Lily hides a smile behind her wine glass and Bart's lips twitch a little.

Our last 'small disagreement' involved three broken case of single malt, fifteen stitches, and two very inconvenient public nudity citations – not to mention an apparently _ever present_ hyphen.

"She doesn't get hers until I get mine" I shrug my shoulders.

Blair sprays the sip of water she hadn't quite managed to swallow yet everywhere.

I smirk and reach for her napkin.

I move to dab at water that's landed on her shoulder.

She eyes me warily.

I lean in and kiss her cheek.

She smiles cautiously and lets me press the cloth to her shoulder.

I sweep the napkin across her collarbone to her other shoulder, grazing the tops of breasts.

She gives me a dirty look but doesn't move to slap, smack, or sever any crucial part of my anatomy. I grin smugly and place my hand on her knee a little higher than need be to balance myself as I continue to dab at the bodice of her Versace dress.

"Say Uncle" I whisper barely audibly.

"You don't have any brothers or sisters" she sputters distractedly, forgetting about her BFF and my step brother.

"You know you want this too" I breathe against the damp skin of her neck and accidentally-on-purpose brush a nipple.

She shudders and her eyes fall shut.

I barely register Lily and Bart discreetly averting their eyes; engrossing themselves in the décor of the darkly light restaurant.

I nip at her earlobe. She moans low in her throat.

I inch my hand further up her thigh. She squirms in her seat.

"Come on, B" I say letting my voice drop an octave, "you said you'd always be up for anything…"

I kneed the inside of her upper thigh. She shifts her hips forward slightly, guiding my fingers closer to the flimsy swatch of material between her legs.

"Give it to me" I murmur coarsely, "and you'll get _your_ present, Bass."

"Bass-Waldorf" she says breathlessly, eyes still closed.

I trace the pattern of her lace La Perlas. She rubs herself against my hand.

"_Please_, B?" I ask huskily knowing damn well that the nick name she secretly loves hearing fall from my lips in that tone coupled with_ that_ word will be her undoing.

She parts her legs just a little wider and wiggles her bottom back and forth.

I still my hand.

She rocks her hips, urging me on.

My hand stays where it is.

She opens her eyes to glare at me furiously.

I smirk back at her.

She heaves a sigh and rolls her eyes, "fine."

I jump to my feet.

"Father, Lily" I toss over my shoulder as I lean down and lift Blair into my arms, "Blair seems to be feeling a little under the weather all of a sudden. If you'll excuse us for a moment I'm going to escort her to the ladies room."

Lily chokes on her roll. Bart frowns disapprovingly.

"_What!?_ _**Now?**_ _Here__**?!**_" Blair squeaks as I carry her away from our table.

I cut her protests off with my lips, smiling against her full mouth when she eagerly slips her hands into my hair.

"Sir! Sir!" the shit for brains douche bag soon-to-be ex waiter calls out to us franticly as he chases after us, "You can't go in there, Sir! That's the ladies room!"

Blair gasps and buries her burning face in the crook of my neck.

I pin s.f.b.d.b.s.t.b.e.w with a withering glare and make a mental note to track down every single last member of his immediate family-and possibly every member of their _extended_ families- and have them all fired, hired at Bass Industries, and fired again. And again. And again.

I press my back to the washroom door, "My _wife_, Mrs. Bass-"

"-Bass-Waldorf-" Blair mumbles her interjection from against my neck.

"-is feeling ill. AND I _can_ and _fucking_ _**will**_ do whatever I please" I spit dangerously in his face as I back into the room. He gulps and scurries off.

I set Blair gently on her feet in the middle of the small room and grin smugly.

She screeches and attacks me like a mother bear protecting her cubs.

"Charles Bass!" (That's four-and still no smile) she hisses in between swats, "Just _what_ do you-"

I don't let her finish. I tangle my left hand in her hair and crush my lips fiercely to hers. She wraps a leg around my waist and I grab her ass, pressing her heat against mine. She lifts her other leg to join the first and I back her into the marble wall.

"Mmm" I pull back suddenly to untangle her legs from around my waist and steady her on her feet. I reach into my jacket pocket and offer her the long rectangular box.

She stares at me in disbelief.

I stare back seriously.

She juts out a hip and props a hand on it.

I cross my arms in front of my chest.

She arches a well shaped eyebrow, tapping her foot.

I wink.

She rolls her eyes and sighs exaggeratedly, holding out her other hand.

I place the box in her outstretched palm and smirk triumphantly.

She makes a disgusted sound and disappears into a stall muttering "you'll get yours alright, you mother chucker."

I chuckle and turn to right my rumbled jacket in the mirror.

She grumbles to herself as she rips open the box.

"… don't just _**tell**_ a girl she's… and _**demand**_ …in a _**public bathroom**_… Basstard."

She falls silent once she's run out of witty insults fashioned from our shared moniker.

"You're a Bass too _baby_" I throw over my shoulder, more venom than I feel; the anticipation making me uncharacteristically on edge.

"Bass-Waldorf!" she calls back shrilly as the cardboard box hits me squarely in the back of the head. I roll my eyes at my own reflection. Her eyes meet mine in the mirror as she opens the stall door. I turn to her searching over her form, but I don't see my present on her anywhere.

"Well?" I ask.

She hesitates. Thirty seconds, a minutes passes.

"Dammit, Waldorf! Were is it?" I demand, slipping in to the old habit of calling her by her maiden name when I'm frustrated.

"Bass-Waldorf" she states.

I roll my eyes and nod dismissively.

"No." She shakes her head emphatically.

"_Bass – __**Wal-dorf**_" she says again, punctuating each syllable of the chagrined hyphenated name with the white stick she's pulled from behind her back.

She smiles slowly as her words sink in and my own grin lights my face.

I step forward and wrap my arms around her waist and lean my forehead against hers.

"Happy anniversary, Chuck" she whispers throatily, here eyes closed, and I kiss the tip of her nose.

I pull back and slip my right hand into my other jacket pocket, pulling out a small bow adorned cassette.

She turns in my arms, pressing her back to my chest as she takes it from me.

"What is this?" she asks me bewilderedly.

But before I can answer her the restroom door swings opens and a woman enters startling us both apart with her screams.

Blair's cheeks flame and she desperately grabs at my hand to drag me back to our table.

I nearly run her over as she stops abruptly, turning around to quickly shove the test back into the pocket of my dinner jacket (I don't tell her that D&G and _urine_ are **not** to be mixed) before we reach our table. She turns once more in my father and Lily's direction when she seems to remember the cassette still grasped tightly in her other palm. She casts a quick look at the book on tape I've given her, _for our anniversary_, and rolls her eyes.

I smirk. She's so cute when she's annoyed that I can't help but lean in right before we round the corner to my parents and whisper in here ear "you're new bible, _baby_."

Her shoulders stiffen and I can tell she's plotting her revenge. Probably something delicious like showing up in those impossibly fucking high kitten heels she knows I fucking love. To prance around outside the glass walls of my office. During a meeting with the investors. Or her _mother._

I shudder at my last thought.

And then she's facing me again, attempting to shove the cassette into my pocket before any of the hundreds of our closest friends currently shouting choruses of "Surprise!" and "Happy Anniversary Mr. and Mrs. Bass!" get an eye full.

"_Bass – __**Wal-dorf**_" she states in a no-nonsense tone as she spares me a meaningful glance before slipping an arm through mine and turning to great our guests.

I nod because I love her and she's unknowingly pressed a protective hand to her still flat belly.

Besides- I hear epidurals can be quite the trip.

* * *

A/N HUGE thanks to Cher. And sorry doll, that there couldn't be more smut, it just didn't let itself well to the 'plot'.

-Lynne


	3. Vertical

**_Disclaimer: I own nothing. Literally, nothing. Gossip Girl and its characters belong to Cecily von Ziegesar, Josh Schwartz and the CW. Just for fun, not profit!  
_**

**_A/N WOW. This is long, eh? Quasi beta'd. Thank you to everyone who read and left a review! To clear up some confusion: this is not exactly a chapter fic, but more of a collection of similarily themed one shots. I'm unsure as to how many there will be. They are not necessarily sequential. Although Vertical won't make sense unless you read Mahogany and Cotton FIRST, which is why I've posted them as 'chapters". Thanks again to Cher for the support. :)_**

**_Please drop me a line to let me know what you think_**.

**_

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I slip one leg and then the other into my La Perla panties – the ones that accentuate my ass and make my legs look fabulous- and attempt to pull them in place over my expanding midsection. They cut into my flesh painfully and I huff out a breath. _Stupid mother chucker and his stupid sperm._ I yank the flimsy swatch of black silk back down my legs and stalk across the room to place them properly folded amongst all the other articles of clothing I can no longer wear. I jerk open the dresser drawer and sigh in annoyance at what I find.

"CHUCK!" I scream loudly, fisting my hands were my waist _used_ to be and glare at the offending object.

"Yes dear…?" he questions innocently as he pops his head out of our bathroom.

"If you think for one _second_ that I'm actually going to… _wear_ these…" I hiss as I grab the plastic package- that he's taped a _bow_ to- and whirl around to launch it at his head.

He ducks it easily and sends me a self-satisfied grin.

His hair is wet and disheveled; water droplets clinging to the hairs on his broad chest. I eye one droplet in particular as it slowly slides down his tight stomach to join with the towel slung low on his narrow waist. I gulp and unconsciously lick my lips. His towel twitches at little just below where he's knotted it at his front and I rake my eyes back up his torso to his face. His eyes are a murky brown; fixed on the breast that my little silk robe revealed- and that I with great foresight neglected to cover-when I attempted to peg him off with his _'present'_.

A familiar warmth pools between my legs and my nipples ready.

He growls huskily.

And I'm advancing on him hungrily before I can even think to drop the panties I still have tightly fisted in my hand.

My legs wrap around his waist as he lifts and pins me against the doorframe. He pulls my hair roughly and scrapes his teeth over the sensitive spot between my neck and collarbone. I cry out; crushing my forgotten panties against his shoulders as I arch my back and pull him closer. He bites my bottom lip and drags the hand tangled in my hair down my neck and across my right shoulder blade; baring my other breast. I rock my hips against his and the movement sends my gaping robe to the floor. He steps over the heap of pink silk as he licks the valley between my plump breasts and backs me into our bathroom. Bare butt meets cool marble as he balances me on the edge of the sink. Startled, I gasp but don't falter in my attempt to free him of his towel. He chuckles and I glare at him, eyebrow arched; daring him to say it.

"Just enjoying the perks of my wife's _sudden_ _increase _in libido" he states despite my expression, his eyes twinkling. I growl at him. But I'm too far gone and it ends up sounding more like a desperate moan. The Basstard knows it too. He's grinning, _**smugly**_, and tracing teasing circles on my inner thigh- refusing to stroke were I want him to most.

I make a mental note to send Dorota- who, thank _God_, is only at the brownstone on Sundays- to the store to buy more batteries. In bulk.

"You're going to wear your poor husband out, woman" he continues, smug grin in place as his fingers avoid_ there_ once more, "if only there were a manual, nay a_ guide __**book**_to shed some helpful light."

I decide this man has probably been well versed in the effects of pregnancy on the female libido since that false alarm in junior year. The chucker probably even knocked me up on purpose. I make a mental note to wear a push up bra to this evening's festivities. And maybe my new Louboutin stilettos. _What?_ _So I'm preggers; it's torture squared for him. "My poor, well toned, aching legs. Rub them for me- while I fall 'asleep' from my exhausting pregnant day and leave you hard and horny-, will you Chuck?"_

But my inner Cruela is silenced before she can somehow add that French maid outfit from six Halloweens back that's slipped Chuck's mind to her crazy plan because he's finally positioning himself between my legs.

"You'll wear them" he demands huskily and I nod. He'd have drawn out the process until I agreed, and I want him **now.**

He enters me swiftly and I groan from the sweet friction of it. He braces our joined bodies against the sink with one hand to the mirror behind my head and fondles my breast with the other. The pressure between my thighs swells as he pumps smoothly into me and flicks the pad of his thumb against my beaded nipple. I can feel my release rapidly approaching and quickly screw me eyes shut so he won't see my impending peak in them. The damn breaks and spasms deliciously wrack my body.

He pulls back; stunned at how quickly I crested. I push my palms against his chest, forgotten black lace against olive skin, and he stumbles over his own feet to the ground. I awkwardly hop to the floor and smile down at him sweetly.

"Thanks for helping a horny wife out" I purr in satisfaction, one palm pressed purposely to my belly.

He glares up at me.

I grin down at him.

He grumbles something unintelligible under his breath and gets to his feet, his prominent erection pointing at me accusingly.

I giggle.

He saunters forward determinedly. I shuffle back; side stepping my robe. He lunges at me and yelps as his feet slip and slide in the puddle of silk on the marble floor. I wink and waggle my fingers at him flirtatiously, his bare butt on cool marble once more.

And notice the La Perla's still in my hand.

"You might have won the battle, _darling_" I say in a syrupy voice as I tilt forward to stretch the black lace over his head pointedly, "but you will not win the war_._"

He gapes at me, my panties on his head.

I turn and scurry down the hall to barricade myself in a guest room until we haven't any time left but for hastily rushing to his sister and my BFF's bash.

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"Blair, what were these doing mixed in with the roses in the back hall?" Serena questions me, waddling over to my perch atop a bar stool. She scrunches her golden features and props a hand on her hip holding out the pair of soggy maternity panties for me to inspect.

I abandon the provocative look I'd been sending my very horny husband to glance her way. I choke a little on the water I'd been about to swallow when I notice the object in question and send her a quasi-innocent look.

"I haven't the faintest idea." I attempt to lie, "Really S, why would you even _ask_ me such a thing?"

"Because we're the only pregnant women here, and I'm wearing my panties?" she retorts.

"Maybe you and Humphrey had a frolic in the cabbage patch yesterday and you forgot. Pregnancy negatively affects your memory you know" I throw back.

And cringe inwardly. I turn frantically in Chuck's direction hoping he hasn't heard the 'insightful' statement slip from my lips but he's smirking at me like the Cheshire cat on crack and I know he's heard.

"Believe me, I'd remember _that_" Serena returns in a quiet voice, glancing wistfully across the room at her husband.

I gawk at her openly. She blushes.

"How long?" I ask not caring that I'm prying.

She ducks her head and mumbles something I don't quite catch.

"What?" I ask nearly falling off my stool in an attempt to catch her words.

"Three months" she mumbles into her breasts, picking at the hem of her gold gown.

"_What!?_" I squeak and this time I do slide off my stool.

But the ever watchful super-Chuck is somehow across the room and to the rescue before I can blink. I vaguely wonder if there is a chapter in his stupid precious book on stalking your pregnant wife's every move as he cradles me to his chest. He sets me down-on my _feet­­_- and loops his arms around my waist as he tucks me securely into his chest.

He's breathing's a little labored and I can feel his heart beating out of his chest-and as quickly as mine-so I don't yell at him for being (rightly) paranoid but let him rest his chin on my hair until he's recovered. I pull back after a few minutes and he stares down at me sternly. I nod and place a palm to his stubbly cheek.

He shoots his step sister a disapproving look. She points back at me like a guilty five year old and he rolls his eyes; pinning her with a pointed look. She nods and I decide I'll inform Humphrey about the teeny sip of champagne I saw her swallow.

Chuck rests a hand to my rounded stomach protectively as he presses a quick kiss to my lips before crossing the room to finish brokering a deal. But not before shooting one last pointed look over his shoulder at Serena.

"Jesus, B" Serena breaths pressing a hand to her heart, "how did you even get _up_ there?"

"Not important." I snap "And don't change the subject!"

_So nearly plummeting to my death makes me cranky. And she's in collusion with the enemy._

Her shoulders slump and she bows her head.

"I'm sorry" I say, instantly regretting my tone. "But three_ months?_ That's almost as long as-"

"I know" she says sadly placing a hand to her own swollen abdomen, "he says it could be bad for the baby and that he's uncomfortable with it."

"_Bad_ for them?!" I sputter incredulously; copying her gesture.

"I don't know… maybe I just disgust him." She continues pitifully, ignoring my interruption.

I scoff because Serena couldn't disgust a homeless man bathing in a septic tank full of watery diarrhea. While eating puss filled scabs. And brussel sprouts. If she _tried_.

A small tear slips down her cheek and she brushes at it frantically.

"I thought we were supposed to glow" she says dejectedly meeting my eyes once more, "aren't we supposed to be like a walking testament to their virility?"

I stare at her open mouthed.

"I heard Vanessa explaining what it meant to Nate earlier" she admits, cracking a small smile.

"You almost single handedly rewrote a chapter in Chuck's damn baby bo-" I clamp a hand over my mouth and sneak a wide-eyed look at the business men across the room. His back is to me-apparently foregoing his stalking tendencies to trust sister dearest with my health-and he doesn't appear to have heard my slip this time.

I drop my hand to unknowingly rub my curved midsection and smile triumphantly.

"I heard that _Mrs. Bass_" he tosses over his shoulder and I stick out my tongue at the back of his head. Bart covers a laugh with a cough before once turning his attention once more to the business men and his son.

"Mrs. _Bass_?" Serena raises an eyebrow when I don't immediately-and _loudly_- correct him.

I grumble and finger the chain at my neck.

"The Basstard insists that since my wedding rings won't fit" I trace the bands hanging just above my breasts and scowl at her adorned fourth finger, "that I be hyphen free."

I wave my naked left hand dismissively, "For the time being anyway."

"I don't see his logic", I add with a shrug, "but I was slightly distracted when I agreed to it."

Serena smirks knowingly. I eye her disdainfully.

She giggles at my expression and I stick my tongue out at her, too.

"Whose side are you on anyway?" I ask her feigning hurt.

"Yours, B. Of course." She says immediately; reaching out to place her dainty little hand on my bare forearm.

"Good." I say as I _accidentally_ break the clasp on my necklace with a hard tug, "Because I need a favour- do you think you have a spare chain that wouldn't clash with my rings?"

And I know damn well the only chain she has that would do the trick.

She nods and heads off to her bedroom in search of the requested item, passing Lily and Bart on their way over to greet me. I feel Chuck's arm slink around my waist and figure the 'men's only' gathering is finally finished.

"You and your vases" he shakes his head incredulously. He hands me a small buffet plate topped with appetizers and nuzzles the hollow of my neck.

I sniff them. _Tuna_. I detest Tuna. I arch an eyebrow first at my plate, then at him. He holds my gaze stubbornly. Probably in that damn chapter of I haven't been able to secretly listen to yet.

"What? I wore them. It's not _my_ fault if you didn't specify a time frame." I point out proudly as I pop the heinous-_and_ _chewy_-tuna roll into my mouth.

His smile turns lusty as he realizes my panties can't be in two places at once. I bat my eyes innocently. His hand dips lower on my waist and his eyes darken to a chocolate brown.

"Blair! Charles!" Lily gushes as she finally reaches us.

Bart nods at us both as Lily embraces me and presses a kiss to Chuck's cheek.

"How are you feeling dear?" she inquires smiling warmly at my convex belly.

"I'm well, thank you Mrs. Bass." I smile back, "And as of this past Thursday-"

Chuck raises a confused brow at that before remembering he'd been away on business the week of our last appointment.

"-everything seems to be progressing quite nicely with our girl."

"Boy." Chuck counters.

His hand dips even lower to surreptitiously squeezing my ass.

I smush a tuna roll into the jacket pocket of his tux.

"Oh! You don't want to know the sex?" Lily cries disappointedly.

Chuck says "Yes" as I shake my head 'No.'

"We want it to be a surprise" I say firmly as I turn my body into Chuck's and accidentally brush a thigh against his already semi hard penis.

"_You_" he grunts through clenched teeth as a grey haired man from the man-huddle approaches to lay a hand on both father and son's shoulders.

"Sorry ladies" he drawls winking at me, "I only need them for a moment."

A muscle twitches in Chuck's jaw.

I notice and smile flirtatiously at the older man.

"Be good" Chuck growls sternly before following my new septuagenarian boyfriend and his father across the room.

"You really don't want to know the sex?" Lily questions me, shooting an odd look at my buffet plate.

"No, why?" I ask confused by her expression.

Serena arrives with the chain at that moment delaying Lily's answer. I slip the heavy bands on the silver chain and fasten it around my neck. Serena's eyes widen as it finally dawns on her. Her chain is longer than mine: my rings now fall directly between my breasts. She shoots me another knowing look and I bat my eyes angelically.

"Just stay out of my foyer closet" she hisses before turning to track down her husband.

"The sex…?" I remind Lily, ignoring her curious look.

"Oh! Yes. You'd like a girl?" She inquires, making a gesture with her hand at my tuna roll that only confuses me further.

"Yes…" I draw the word out urging her to explain.

"Then you probably should put down the tuna roll" she replies helpfully, taking a sip from her champagne flute.

"Why?" I question, anticipation skittering up my spine.

"Because it increases your chances of having a boy" she states like she's telling me the sky is blue.

"_What!_" I squeak.

"Oh, yes" she nods her head knowingly, "some people may call them old wives tales, but when I was pregnant with Eric my mother told me if we wanted another girl I should only eat red meat and to never…you know… standing up. If we wanted a boy then I should eat lots of tuna, drink plenty of whole milk, and… you're going to thinks this one is crazy, but she swears it works…something about the blood flood or air flow maybe? …"

"Lily!" I cry impatiently, dreading and desperately needing to hear her explanation equally.

"Avoid going commando" she whispers under her breath flicking a glance at the wet panties Serena shoved into my Chloe clutch.

I drop my buffet plate.

It crashes to the floor loudly and I spin on the heel of my red stilettos to hunt down and murder my husband; leaving Lily slack jawed and gaping after me

I stomp my way around the entire penthouse searching for my miserable excuse of a husband.

I can't find the jerk anywhere. He's not hiding behind his father in Dumpty's study, he's not out on the balcony sneaking cigars with Eric, and he's _certainly_ not in the back hallway watching Cabbage Patch loudly fuck the last three months from his wife's mind.

"Where the hell are you Chuck?" I hiss to the empty foyer.

The closet door directly to my right opens and a large hand pulls me inside by my wrist.

"What the hell are you doing in here?" I demand into the dark space between us.

"Heard you were looking for me" Chuck replies, and even though I can't see it I know the Basstard's wiggling his eyebrows at me suggestively. He presses his prominent erection into my groin and whispers in my ear what he badly wants to do to me.

I can feel my ever ready body responding eagerly to his touch when a funny jumpy fluttery feeling in my stomach stops me.

"Bass…" I exhale a little nervously, reverting to the old habit of calling him by his surname when I'm caught off guard.

He claps his hands once and a soft glow accentuates his concerned face. He grasps my upper arms a little too tightly.

"What? What is it? What's wrong?" he asks apprehensively, his eyes wide with worry.

My mouth opens in wonder and I grab his hand to press his broad palm against the curve of my belly.

He furrows his thick brows at my actions, confusion flickering in his eyes until he feels my stomach ripple beneath his fingers. He slowly raises his eyes to mine questioningly.

I smile widely and nod my head.

A goofy grin splits his handsome features and there's moisture at the corner of his eyes.

A tear slides down my cheek and he brushes it away with the pad of his thumb. Burying his fingers in the soft hairs at the nape of my neck he cradles my head in his palm as he draws my lips to his.

"Love you" he breaths unevenly; his forehead gently resting against mine.

Too choked up to form the words, I link my fingers with his on my belly and raise a hand to gently squeeze the back of his neck twice.

"Definitely a Bass" he chuckles after a particularly forceful punt jolts our linked hands.

"_Bass__**.**_" I shift his palm a few inches to the right and detangle the hand in my hair to lay it on the left side of my belly, "_Waldorf._"

He pulls his hands back jerkily nearly, tripping over his own feet. And I briefly almost wish he had; granny panties _would_ be better than my La Perlas after all.

"W-wha…?" he stutters, and I grin at the slightly terrified look in his eyes.

"How do you…" he points a finger at my midsection, "…what?"

He pales and I giggle.

He blinks at me; shocked. "…Are you sure?"

I simply nod.

"…The appointment?" he asks, his still out stretched fingers beginning to tremor slightly.

I reach out to intertwine my fingers with his firmly and nod again.

A slightly bewildered smile spreads slowly on his face. He tugs me to him; releasing my hand to proudly lay his palms on my swollen abdomen. He shoots me a pleased smirk and Serena's words whisper in my ear.

"…_aren't we supposed to be like a walking testament to their virility?"_ _Oh, GOD._ They'll be no living with the man now.

"Wait," he interrupts my thoughts and regards me suspiciously, "do you know-"

I shake my head, " No."

He quirks an eyebrow at me skeptically searching my face any sing of the tell he can spot a mile away. Finally satisfied, he nods.

"Boys: I name them" he asserts in the tone of voice he thinks intimidates me.

I debate my options: reveal my hand of cards; utilizing my well thought out evening's worth of sexual warfare, or take the present he's unknowingly dropped straight into my lap. _Gift wrapped_.

I lift a hand to my neck and deliberately trace the length of Serena's chain, pretending to contemplate his (demand) wish. He follows the movement hungrily with his eyes.

"Fine" I sigh heavily, "but girls and I nam-"

He cuts me off with a fiery kiss; grunting his agreement against my lips.

I brace my palms against his solid chest and push back. "Anything I wa-"

He cuts me off again; thrusting his tongue into my mouth passionately and pinning me to the far wall. He pulls back to free himself from his tux pants and I take advantage.

"_Anything_ I want" I repeat.

"Anything" he growls as he hikes my gown up past my hips and knees my legs apart to enter me.

And we have sex. In the foyer closet. Standing up.

Because the poor man needs _something_ to take the sting out of being deprived of his favorite sexual position-and my soon to be discovered _allergy _to tuna- for the next five months.

* * *

A/N. Septuagenarian: between 70 & 80 yrs old. As usual all the pregnancy facts are made up to suit my liking.

-Lynne


	4. Vanilla & Lavender

**READ ME!** This takes place BEFORE C&B get hitched. It's written in a different tense/style to hopefully help you separate the 'then' from the 'now'. It's sexually graphic, and if you have an issue reading anything mentioning or describing masturbation, STOP NOW! **READ ME**

_**A/N-There will be at least one, possibly two, more 'then' pieces/one shots before I get back to the 'now' pieces/one shots, but I AM currently planning on getting back to them. If that changes, I'll let you know. V&L isn't as fluffy as M, C, or V but its was time for a little angst, no? As always please take a second to let me know how this turned out!  
**_

_**HUGE, HUGE Thank you Dee & Beth who inspired ;) me to write this and were patient enough to wade through all my spelling/grammatical errors. :D. Thanks as always to Cher who took the time to preview and help decide its validity. **_

* * *

Chuck awoke the same way he had been for the past three months; pissed off, hard and horny as hell. The dream had been _this close_ this time. _This close!_ Ten more seconds and he would have been inside her. Twenty more seconds and he would have heard her breathy little gasps of appreciation and seen those brown eyes glazed over from the feel of him. Thirty more seconds and he would have…

He grabbed the pillow to his left, pressing his face into it roughly in a feeble attempt to muffle his loud groans. And smelled her there. Her scent still lingered on his sheets. He's ordered Rodolfo to dry clean them a total of one hundred and ninety-seven times and her _fucking_ scent still lingered on his _fucking_ sheets. Hints of vanilla and lavender trailed after him tauntingly as he vaulted angrily from his bed. He raked a hand through his disheveled hair and paced the length of his room.

"_Rodolfo!_" he barked, tucking his painfully erect penis under the waistband of his boxers.

When the frail little man failed to immediately appear before him Chuck bellowed again, "RODOLFO!"

"Y-yes mister Chuck?" the silver-haired man stuttered, keeping a trembling hand on the doorknob at the sight of the half naked teenager.

Chuck turned to glare at him, his left eye twitching, "I thought I told you to have my sheets laundered."

"Y-yes mister Chuck." Rodolfo mumbled into his chest, "They- the dry cleaners-…they dropped them off again yesterday evening. I made up your bed myself, sir."

Chuck's pillow whizzed past Rodolfo's ear and skidded to a stop against Serena's door.

"Well then they obviously did a piss poor fucking job of it? Didn't they!?" Chuck snarled, waving his arms madly at the mess of vanilla-scented sheets.

"Yes, sir. I'll have them laundered again, Mr. Chuck," Rodolfo scampered forward to gather them into his skinny arms, flicking a hesitant glance from Chuck to the bed.

"What?" Chuck spat dangerously, turning to stalk dauntingly towards the smaller man once more.

"It's just… silk is very delicate, sir" the manservant offered carefully, nervously eyeing the thinning sheets, "Are you most certain you wouldn't rather a new set?"

Chuck's eye twitched again.

"Get out." he growled through clenched teeth, "Now."

The manservant anxiously moved to strip Chuck's bed, "They'll be back by this evening, Mr. Chuck. Good as new, sir."

Chuck's spine stiffened, his hands fisting at his sides unknowingly. Rodolfo's pinched face drained of all its color.

"R-right, sir. Not as good as new, sir. Apologies Mr. Chuck, sir," he sputtered, sheets gathered to his chest as a flimsy silk shield, as he bowed backwards out of Chuck's room.

"Senile bastard" Chuck grumbled under his breath as he striped out of his boxers and stormed into his bathroom for his (now) customary cold shower.

Twenty minutes later the freezing water cascaded down his broad back, sending shivers skittering up his spine. Still fucking hard, still _fucking_ horny. He shifted positions, attempting a full frontal assault. Why couldn't he get himself under control? What the hell was happening to him? It'd been three _months_, for god's sake! Three whole _mother fucking_ months since she'd last lay naked between his sheets. But he could still smell her there. And he couldn't even touch another woman without visions of soft brown eyes and full red lips broad-siding him into instant impotence.

Ever since the second that bitch Am…- God, he couldn't even remember her name; fitting, considering ever since she'd first heard it; Blair had been trying to forget she'd ever known _his_- laid a finger on him he'd gone as limp as a five day old wrinkly balloon. She'd given a throaty laugh, mumbling something about lending a hand but he'd only scowled and pointed to the door. The nameless blonde had sauntered out of his room, putting a little too much hip into the action and gyrating like an off kilter washing machine. He'd have been tempted to burn the hippy whore at the stake if he hadn't instantly known she wasn't the particular witch responsible for his little problem.

Chuck turned his broad back to the spray once more, throwing his head back and letting the cool water slide down his flushed face. Maybe he deserved it. He had sort of stranded her in a foreign country. Alone. But it wasn't exactly like she was some poor uncultured _public school_ slut, she was Blair Waldorf.

He raised his head to let it smack back against the tiled wall painfully. Exactly. She was _Blair Waldorf_. And he couldn't get it up without thinking about her; couldn't get it up _unless_ he was thinking about her.

This was most likely fate's ironic sense of humor kicking him in the balls.

He exhaled noisily. He had to hand it to fate, she was a crafty bitch. Finally, Chuck decided to just get on with his shower; the cold water apparently doing nothing to deflate his arousal this morning. Lifting his head from the cool marble tile, he searched blindly for the shampoo bottle until his fingers found the hard plastic. He moaned deeply as they massaged his scalp and bowed his head to apply pressure to the growing knot at the base of his skull.

Was any one girl even worth all of this? Why the hell was he putting himself through it? If she wasn't going to forgive him after months of pathetic phone calls and _flowers,_ then what the fuck was the point? There wasn't one. But, for a reason Chuck refused to acknowledge, that thought made him nervous. Instead he chose to distract himself from all thoughts of Blair with the preparations for Victrola's first ever (and certainly not last) lesbians only night.

The bar was stocked with both liquor and big breasted blonde lesbians (down grading to def com four, Houston). Check. He'd arranged for that touring, all-lesbian burlesque group to perform exclusively at Victrola. Check. The usual wait-staff had the night off, replaced with leggy red heads and (down grading to def com three) exotic raven haired beauties (def com two). And all were either openly gay or bisexual. Check. Check. Chuck rinsed his hair and grabbed the bar of soap. Everything was ready, everything in place. It was the perfect plan. And if it just so happened to be blissfully devoid of petit, proper brunettes- well then Chuck wasn't going to complain.

He exhaled forcefully as thoughts of her- curly hair flowing widely about her beautiful face, playful smirk quirking her tantalizing ruby lips, eyes hooded and locked on his, her hips swaying suggestively to the music - flooded him. (Houston, we have liftoff.)

Hurling the bar of soap at the far wall, Chuck swore in frustration, "FUCK!"

He pushed his hands slowly through his wet hair, bracing them on the top of his head; his breathing labored. He'd been avoiding her for the last two weeks in hopes that she would miss his constant, pathetic presence and crumble in the face of a sudden overwhelming need to forgive and fuck him senseless. It hadn't worked. And he'd been left once again straining to control both his disappointment and his hyperactive libido in a cold shower.

Frozen solid and trying desperately not to jerk off; definitely not how he wanted to be spending a Friday morning. Filling her to the hilt as his soapy skin slid against hers was more like it. They'd fucked (he flat out refused to call it _making love_- even though he's pretty sure that she would… and that she'd be right) in his shower that last night together. His father and Lily had been away on their honey moon, Eric and Serena slumming in Brooklyn with Dumpty.

_She'd been sleeping face down on his bed; the covers resting low on her back, the curve of her ass just barely exposed. Her left leg was tangled between his own, his silk sheets seductively wrapped around the shapely calf of her right. Her chestnut curls were slicked to her right shoulder; they'd worked up quite the sweat._

"_Blair," he spoke softly, tickling his fingertips along her ribcage._

"_Mmmrmph" she mumbled sleepily, swatting a hand at his head. _

"_Blair." he repeated insistently, shaking her gently, "Wake up."_

"_Seriously Bass?" she grumbled disbelievingly from beneath her closed lids._

"_**Shower**__ Waldorf," he returned, silk slipping against her velvet skin as he freed her leg from the sheets. "You'll thank me in the morning when you aren't sticking to the mattress."_

"_Get the water running first," she demanded, her eyes still closed, "I'm not hoping into some freezing cold shower so you can play __**gentleman**__ and warm me up."_

_He shook his head and chuckled as he strode naked into the bathroom. He fiddled with the temperature control until he thought she'd be happy and his flesh would melt from his bones, calling out to her several times. When fifteen minutes had passed and she hadn't appeared blurry eyed and breathing fire, he figured he'd just let her sleep. And dole out one very large 'I told you so' in the morning. He jumped into the shower, opting to keep the temperature just past scalding in case she changed her mind and began quickly lathering a soapy foam into his chest._

_He felt her presence the moment she entered the room. He was already facing the stall door before the steam receded and she was wrapped in silk before him. _

"_It's hot enough" he assured her, holding out a hand to her._

_She studied him. _

"_Blair," he rolled his eyes, "just get your ass in here, would you?"_

_She smiled coyly and let the sheet pool on the marble floor. He quirked a confused eyebrow at her._

"_Nobody ever tell you you're supposed to shower naked?" he asked, eyeing where his under shirt hit her upper thighs appreciatively. _

"_Once or twice," she teased, stepping under the spray, "this will be more fun."_

_And she had been right. _

_The white cotton clinging to her petite breasts, slowly revealing her pert nipples. The feel of her small hands trailing the bar of soap across his collar bones, down his arms, over his broad chest, and down his stomach. Her eyes twinkling as she fell to her knees to streak a soapy path up one leg and down the other. Flicking a smoldering look over her shoulder she crossed to the far wall, telling him to stay put. Tracing a path down the see through material between her breasts to her flat stomach, hooking a finger into the hem of her lace panties to draw them slowly down her parted thighs, her eyes never left his. Skimming her palms up her hips, her sides, to her breasts. Letting her eyes fall shut as she kneaded them gently. Nibbling on her bottom lip as she flicked the soft pad of her finger over a cotton covered nipple. Pulling the wet material over her head jerkily and throwing it at his feet to join her underwear. Moaning his name as her hand slowly slid down her torso to her curls, parting her thighs and slipping a finger between her folds. Unhurriedly tracing circles, deliberately bringing herself closer and closer to the precipice. Her perfect ruby lips parting, breathy little gasps escaping past them as her hips bucked against her hand. Seeing the moment the fireworks erupted flash across her features; her eyes rolling back into her head, strangled scream, his name and favorite explicit throatily expressed as a demand. _

"_Fuck me, Chuck." _

And he had. Against every wall in this very shower. Against every surface in the bathroom.

Chuck reached behind himself to twist the faucet further to the right as his penis continued to glare up at him, demanding attention. Raking his hands through his damp hair –at this rate he'd be bald by eighteen- he growled down at himself.

"Just get _over_ her! It's not gonna happen!" His penis only twitched in response.

"Great. Just _fucking_ great," he snarled, "Now you've completely lost it. Just finish your damn shower…and stop talking to yourself."

Chuck angrily finished washing –being careful to avoid too much contact with the over zealous 'Jr. Mr. Chuck'- and stalked back into his bedroom to dress for school. His ever present painful erection his very own cilice - Silas would be proud.

He hung his head and practically sobbed in frustration as her scent filled his nostrils once more. Throwing on the first uniform he could find, grabbing socks and underwear to put on in the limo later, he thundered out the door-slamming it behind him.

And missed the distinct smell of vanilla and lavender, seeping from the broken shards of the perfume bottle that hadn't been in his room forty minutes earlier.

* * *

_A/N- Yes, I know. Queen of author notes. A "cilice" is that spiky metal thing the albino monk (Silas) wears around his thigh in The Davinci Code. Oh! And I don't own anything, Gossip Girl belongs to C.V.Z, J.S, and the C.W. For fun, not profit!  
_

_-Lynne_


	5. Socks & Underwear

_**A/N I don't own anything, GG belongs to CvZ, J. S., and the C.W. For fun, not for profit! Thank you to Mia, Cher, DC, and V for helping me through this 'chapter'. And SPECIAL thanks to BETH who suffered through my love for the semi colon once again. STILL in HS timeframe. Please let me know how it turned out:). ADULT themes follow. WARNING.  
**_

* * *

Chuck had been standing just outside his bedroom door, the clammy soles of feet pasted to the hardwood. He couldn't get his reluctant feet to budge for some reason, and his stubborn brain wouldn't quit replaying scenes from a movie whose films had long since warn out. He lifted a hand to his head intent on pushing his fingers through his mess of thick brown hair – the forgotten socks and underwear pressing to his forehead at the exact moment a sleepy, robe clad Serena emerged from her room.

"What exactly are you doing?" She eyed his profile, amusement and confusion lighting her blue eyes.

He jolted– his eyes automatically darting past her form to seek out Blair before he could stop them.

"FUCK!" He ground out through clenched teeth, hurling his underwear and socks against the far wall.

"Hey," Serena swiftly stepped toward him, closing her bedroom door noiselessly behind her. "Keep it down will you? I think Blair's still sleeping."

Chuck only snorted.

"Look," Serena heaved a heavy sigh and padded forward to delicately lay a hand on Chuck's forearm, surprising even herself, "Don't you think this is all getting a little… old?"

He pulled away from her touch to fiddle with his belt buckle, "You're telling me."

"Then _do_ something about it, would you?" She implored, massaging a slow circle at her temple.

"You don't think I've _tried_?" Chuck scoffed, bitterness oozing from his words.

"Well then try harder." Serena snapped, propping a manicured hand on her hip and leveling him with a frigid glare. She was beginning to regret this momentary lapse in judgment that had coaxed her feet towards her step-brother instead of the kitchen.

"Yes, well. Easier said than done, _Sis_." Chuck returned, unknowingly fidgeting with his necktie.

Serena studied him. His hair was a mess, spiking every which way. His tie hung crookedly from his neck and his yellow St. Jude's dress shirt billowed where he had mismatched buttons and their holes. He was barefoot… and apparently sans underwear at the moment.

And his trademark scarf was no where in sight.

"I don't…" Chuck swallowed against the lump in his throat and averted his gaze to stare keenly at his discarded undergarments, "I think I'm …–" He broke off again, shoving his hands roughly into his pockets, shoulders slumped as smudged impressions trailed after his bare feet on the hardwood floor. "It doesn't even matter. She's done." He continued angrily, "She won't even acknowledge my existence, let alone _talk_ to me."

"Chuck…" Serena hesitated. His eyes found hers briefly, a deep sadness plainly visible in them despite his best efforts to mask it. Her heart went out to him.

"You broke her pretty badly." She conceded softly.

His breath caught in his throat and he coughed, attempting to play it off.

"Yea, well, she broke me pretty badly too." He shrugged, still refusing to meet her gaze, before adding under his breath, "Literally."

Serena rolled her eyes heavenward, "I can't believe I'm about to tell you this… She doesn't even know I know, and she'd kill me for sure for telling _you_ of all people… "

Chuck halted abruptly, his heartbeat in his ears. "Tell me what?"

Serena contemplated a finger nail intently. "She's… well, lets just say she's not as _unaffected_ by this whole thing as you may think."

Chuck stared at her, confused. "You really should do your roots with the window _open_ next time, sis."

Serena scoffed.

"Natural blonde, dumb ass." She jabbed a finger into his chest, "And that's the last time I try to help you out, _bro_."

"Serena, wait." Chuck pleaded as she attempted to shove past him, "I'm… I'm _**sorry**_. OK? Just… tell me what the _hell_ you're talking about?"

She cocked a golden brow at him and waited.

"_Please._" He spat out, rolling his eyes exaggeratedly.

"Fine," she grumbled, glancing at her Dior watch, "But I'm going to be late for opening assembly. Grab my bag from my room and have the limo disinfected and waiting."

He furrowed his brows after her. Grab her bag from her room? Was she serious? They had hired help for that.

She peered over her shoulder at him on her way to the kitchen, "Bag. Limo. Get a move on, Chuckles."

He sneered at the hated nickname and turned to open Serena's door, kicking the pillow he'd launched at Rodolfo's head – Blair! He'd forgotten about Blair. She was sleeping just on the other side of the door. Flowing brown locks spread widely on her pillow, all full red lips and petite breasts, and… This was not going to help with his little problem – which in fact wasn't quite so _little_ at present – in the least. But he had a feeling that the rest of his life hinged on what Serena had to tell him… and Serena wanted her damn bag.

And he might just be a glutton for punishment.

He slowly turned the knob and cracked the door open a smidge. He held his breath, hoping to hear Blair breathing evenly – and not fire. Nothing, all he heard was the water running in the shower – Oh, God. The _shower._ Groaning, he hurried into Serena's room, glancing around franticly for the Coach purse that doubled as a Serena's school bag. And trying desperately not to picture what he'd been picturing merely thirty minutes ago. Blair. In the shower, touching herself… and moaning _his_ name. He heard it then, his name moaned in her breathy voice. He really was starting to lose it.

…Or was he?

He quietly skulled closer to the bathroom door and pressed an ear to the frame. He waited patiently to catch anything other than the constant splattering of water, and heard it just as he was about to resume his fruitless search. _**That**_ had definitely been his name. He smirked. But this time she had _panted_ it, along with his favorite explicit. He thumped his head against the door and moaned pitifully. The cotton of his pants tented at his crotch as images of Blair, head thrown back in pleasure, fingers buried deep within herself, flooded him. He slipped a hand down the front of his pants and wrapped his fingers tightly around his shaft.

How long would it take Serena to eat half a bagel anyway?

_No. _

He'd made it this far, jerking off to Blair herself getting off was _not_ how this was going to end. It was going to end with her wrapped tightly around him, wriggling in pleasure as he emptied three months worth of pent up frustration deep inside her.

He released himself and dragged in a couple ragged breaths, attempting to steady his jumpy pulse.

No, it was going to end on _his_ terms.

He smirked and quickly re-buttoned his crumpled shirt, backing toward the bedroom door as her whimpering became more insistent – there would be no way he'd be able to stop himself from breaking down the door if she came calling his name. He strode into the hallway, self satisfied grin in place, as Serena exited the kitchen somehow fully dressed and with her Coach purse slung over her shoulder. He cocked a suspicious eyebrow at her right shoulder. She merely shrugged.

"Nicely played." He commented, slanting a sideways glance at her and straightening his tie as they waited for the elevator.

"Thank you." She quipped, staring straight ahead as the elevator doors slid open, "Now don't eff it up."

He smirked, ignoring the warning bells clanging loudly in his head.

_Oh, __**it**__ was most definitely going to fucked – and __**today**__._

"Oh, and Chuck?-" Serena added as they stood shoulder to shoulder inside the mirrored car.

"Mmmm?" he mumbled, his mind already concocting delicious scenarios.

"-Underwear."

*** *** *** ***  
Blair whimpered happily as the cool glass kissed the warm flesh on her back. Her legs trembled, supporting her weight against the stall door and her breath came almost as quickly as the water spurting from the showerhead. She had slept fitfully throughout the night– the jerk had even wormed his way into her dreams lately – and it had taken her longer than usual to _prepare_ for a day full of faking indifference towards Chuck. _Three times_ longer, to be exact.

It's not like she was emotionally invested in this whole situation, or him. Not at all. She'd cried all the tears she planned to cry over him, burnt a few items on her 'asshole ex-boyfriend' alter – perhaps a certain scarf she'd managed to get her hands on? – and had moved on.

Or at least she'd tried to. He'd kept at it, kept at _her_ with his damn phone calls and his damn _flowers,_ in some sick, twisted little game to which she didn't quite fully understand the rules. But that hadn't stopped her from playing. In fact, by her count, she was currently winning.

She'd merely meant to sneak a peak at his room all those months ago when she'd first gotten back from her surprisingly solo summer abroad. But his room had smelt like him and when Serena had found her two hours later she'd been clutching her Chloe purse to her chest and sobbing uncontrollably into his mattress. It was something they never talked about – especially the part where Blair had thrown a monumental fit when Serena had attempted unsuccessfully to lure her from the room; flinging her purse at Serena's head. It had struck her left cheek and crashed to the floor – its contents spilling everywhere, the little vile her father habitually gave her for her birthday shattering into a wet puddle just under the box spring. The scent had lingered for months and had only just begun to dissipate when Chuck had changed the rules two weeks ago and began ignoring her. The opportunity had practically jumped into her lap gift wrapped. How could she have ignored it?

_"Stop it! What are you doing?" Blair giggled and attempting to squirm away from him as his five o-clock shadow scratched her neck._

_"Sniffing you." He replied, his eyes mischievous and bright in the soft glow of the candles._

_"Well stop it!" she cried, bringing the bed sheet to her ears, "It tickles!" _

_"Oh, it tickles now does it?" He questioned playfully, "Well it didn't seem to tickle here…" he drew her protective sheet down to trace circles around her nipple, "or here…" his fingers tickled down her ribs to her inner thigh, "or here", his fingers moved between her legs to slowly toy with a dark curl. _

_"Hey! Unfair!" She screeched, distracted and caught off guard when his stubbly chin tickled her once more. She tugged on his hair until his eyes met hers, "You cheated!"_

_"Can't cheat if there aren't any rules, baby" He smirked._

_"Don't call me baby." she snapped automatically, "And __**don't**__ sniff me, Basshole." _

_He shifted on the bed to cover her small body with his large one, her arms automatically winding their way around his neck. He pushed an errant strand of brown silk from her forehead and replaced it with his lips._

_"But you smell like heaven, B. You cling to my clothes, and haunt me all day. I can't get you out of my head." He said his dark eyes locked on hers, stroking the pad of his thumb across her cheekbone, "And I don't want to." _

_He always seemed to be doing that, flipping on a dime to unexpectedly change the pace and completely knock the wind out of her. _

_"Fine. You can tickle me with your damn quasi beard," she acquiesced and he arched an eyebrow in mock insult, "but only if further investigations are conducted to determine if the ticklish spot is truly located solely in the neck region… "_

_She saw the fire burning low in her belly reflected in his eyes as he bent his head to kiss her passionately before grinning playfully as he slid from the bed to kneel between her legs. _

Shivers pimpled her skin as the euphoria began to wear off and the water turned cold – shocking her from her reverie. If her mind kept going down that road she'd have to spend another twenty minutes getting the jerk out off her head – and _only_ her head. He was no longer in her heart… if he'd ever been there to begin with.

She quickly toweled off and changed into the extra Constance uniform she kept pressed and hanging in Serena's closet. The bed was empty, clothes strewn haphazardly across crumpled covers. Serena's uniform and Coach bag were both gone. Blair shrugged; she was probably just in the kitchen demolishing her usual half bagel and cream cheese breakfast. How anybody could eat _cream_ cheese at all was beyond Blair, let alone for _breakfast_.

"…I do not agree Miss Shawnie" Blair froze, doorknob in hand. And she wasn't sure if it was because she was in the proverbial lion's den, or if she was afraid the owner of the voice would able to spy her '_preparatory'_ actions written all over her face. She stayed where she was, doorknob in hand, peeking out through the tiny sliver between door and frame. It was Rodolfo, the butler that Chuck had attacked with bed linens as she'd hid unseen around the corner earlier that morning. He was standing right outside Serena's bedroom door talking to another member of the Bass's vast employee staff who badly needed a pedicure, not to mention a wax.

"You don't have to agree with me, baby." The hobbit footed, hairy woman drawled. Blair placed her accent as maybe Texan. It was hard to concentrate through the cloud of cheap perfume that was wafting into the room and attempting to strangle her. "It's written on the boys face plain as day."

Blair's ears perked up. 'Boy' excluded Serena, Lily, and Bart, leaving only Eric or Chuck.

"The only thing displayed in Mister Chuck's face this morning was anger," Rodolfo countered, his frail voice still etched with traces of anxiety. "He was not at all happy with our laundering services."

"It sure as shooting wasn't anger, honey. That was pure frustration- of the sexual kind. Our boy's got him some serious woman troubles," Miss Shawnie drawled back.

"Miss Shawnie…" Rodolfo switched the vacuum cleaner on and Blair greatfully broke into a coughing fit. Someone should have taught Miss Shawnie that less was more. She clamped a hand to her mouth when the vacuuming stopped, focusing intently on holding back her last few coughs and missing most of what Miss Shawnie was drawling now.

"… he ain't getting any and he sure ain't giving it to himself." Blair gasped, her other hand flying to meet the other at her mouth and abruptly releasing the door knob. Serena's door swung back violently from her actions, stopping only when it jammed against her big toe. She bit the inside of her cheek to keep from swearing like a pirate, and prayed the large woman and the elf of a man had been too engrossed in the conversation to notice the motion.

Luck was on her side.

"Ignoring the appalling nature of that statement for the moment, exactly what is it that young master has done to give you such an impression?" Rodolfo demanded squeakily.

"Think about it sugar, have you seen anyone other than Lily or Serena come traipsing through those doors in high heels? No. And I'll tell ya why, because there hasn't been," Shawnie cooed back.

Blair's eyebrows rose into her hairline at that. Chuck hadn't had _one single_ floozy over to the apartment? Not one? But that didn't necessarily mean he hadn't –

"And he just sits around the place moping all day and night. Snapping at anything that looks at him the wrong way," Shawnie continued in her deep twang.

_Oh._ This was too perfect for words. Chuck Bass was… celibate? _Oh,_ this was too good to be true. Blair was going to _**bury**_ him.

"Perhaps he's merely upset with Mr. Bass' sudden marriage and frequent departures," Rodolfo offered.

"Never seemed to bother the boy before when Bart went a gallivantin'. And him and Lily get on just fine. I'm right Roddy, and you know it too. Pass me the duster, would you sugar?" Shawnie added calmly.

Blair heard the vacuum turn on once more and quickly peered out from behind her hiding spot. Rodolfo and Shawnie were in Chuck's room, their backs to her. Their conversation appeared to be over – their attention now fixed on their respective chores. She shoved the door off her toe and quietly limped as quickly as the bloody thing would allow her to down the hallway to frantically call for the elevator.

And missed Miss Shawnie's next insightful words.

"There ain't nothing wrong with those sheets but the fact that _she's_ all over 'em. Only reason he don't throw out these raggy things and get himself some new ones is he's ass over bowtie in love with that girl. Oh, pick your jaw up off the floor old man, I ain't mopping it twice."

* * *

A/N I can't think of anything that needs explaining for this 'chapter'...... hopefully its not too confusing. If you don't understand the sequence of chapters, just ask! *cough* CHER *cough*

-Lynne


	6. Pillow Talk

_**A/N. I own nothing, GG belongs to CvZ, J.S, and the C.W. For fun, not profit! *sexual themes, your are forewarned.* Last one shot in the 'HS series'. I'll get back to the preggers ones next. Please let me know what you think, as always:) This picks up RIGHT after Socks and Underwear. Chuck's texts are surrounded by ' - - ' to diferentiate them from Serena's**_

* * *

"Why are you wearing Chuck's running shoes?" Serena questioned, palming her cell phone as Blair limped through the auditorium towards her. "And what's with the limp?"

"My Blahniks wouldn't fit after your bedroom door attacked me." Blair sighed in relief as she slumped into the chair to Serena's left. "I thought these were Eric's, I hope Chuck doesn't mind."

Serena's jaw nearly unhinged.

"Close your mouth Michael; we are not cod fish." Blair quipped in her best English accent, grinning at her stunned friend widely.

"Alright, where are the hidden cameras?" Serena demanded, turning right and then left in her seat. Her cell phone vibrated against her right thigh, interrupting her theatrics. She discreetly flipped it open.

_**-What's up w B**_**?-**

She shot a glance over her shoulder at Chuck and quickly typed out a reply as Blair gingerly lifted a white Puma to rest it atop her knee.

_**Nothin. Was attacked.**_

Serena smirked as she heard the distinct sound of metal scrape against mahogany a few rows behind and to her left.

_**Sit down Chuckles. … By a *door***__**. **_

"I haven't the slightest idea what you're talking about, S." Blair's painful hiss brought Serena's attention back to their conversation.

"You said the name 'Chuck'," Serena elaborated slowly, giving Blair a perplexed once over, "without threatening dismemberment or death. And you're quoting somebody other than Audrey."

Blair shrugged, shooting Serena an innocent look. "Yes, well… I'm taking your advice."

"You forgive him?" Serena gasped, her eyes bugging out of her head as she grabbed Blair's wrist tightly.

"I've moved past it," Blair corrected, prying her wrist out of Serena's vice grip, "For now."

Serena frowned, a vague sense of doom washing over her as she watched Blair readjust her red headband without meeting her inquiring gaze. Her cell phone buzzed once more as Ms. Queller stepped to centre stage to being the assembly. She crossed her left leg over her right at the knee and flipped her cell open against her right hip to shield it from Blair's view.

_**-Hilarious**__**- **_

Serena smirked at her step brother's reply but didn't risk sending it his way; she could feel Blair's inquisitive stare burning a hole through the top of her head.

_**I thought so.**_

She sent the reply and turned to smile at Blair who quickly shifted her prying gaze to Ms. Queller's latest dignity and decorum lecture. Serena shook her head. She pressed her phone into her lap to muffle the vibrations of Chuck's incoming text.

_**-Something's up-**_

Serena slanted a sideways glance in Blair's direction before replying.

_**Y?**_

Her cell phone vibrated with Chuck's nearly instantaneous response.

_**-She's LOOKIN at me- **_

Serena's eyes shot to Blair who had indeed turned to peer over her left shoulder at Chuck and raise her fingers in a flirty wave.

"B, what are you doing?" Serena questioned, confusion marring her golden features.

"Oh, nothing!" Blair responded simply, turning wide, innocent eyes to meet Serena's narrow gaze, "Just waving hello. It would be rude of me to ignore one half of last night's host."

"Hasn't stopped you for the last three months." Serena muttered under her breath, bowing her head to read another text from her step brother.

_**-What's going on?-**_

"Yes, well, like I said, moving on." Blair shrugged a dismissive shoulder as she attempted to glimpse what Serena was typing, "So how _is_ your dear step-brother anyway?"

"He's been better." Serena replied, too preoccupied by Chuck's text to catch the sarcasm in Blair's tone.

"Oh? Has he been ill?" Blair infused fake concern into her voice as she inched closer to Serena's side.

"You could say that" Serena countered, shifting her body to block the screen from Blair's view.

Blair stuck her tongue out at Serena's bowed head and attempted to inch even closer, "Well I hope that he's been getting lots of rest."

Serena's fingers flew across the keys and sent her reply quickly before dropping her cell into her bag.

_**Acting weird. Don't like it. **_

"Actually, he has been. I haven't even seen him leave his room for anything but to yell at Rodolfo, and to skulk his way to school." Serena tossed a lock of wavy blonde hair behind her shoulder distractedly as she felt around blindly for her phone – which was vibrating _again_ –inside her purse.

Blair hid a smile. So Shawnie had been right after all. No floozies in, no Chuck out… which also meant that she'd been right about… and Chuck _was_ celibate. She shifted in her seat to pin him with a seductive look as Serena flicked a glance into her bag to see Chuck's latest text.

_**-This'll B 2 EZ- **_

Serena chewed on her bottom lip. Easy? What would be easy? Wait…no! She thought she'd seen the light go on for Chuck this morning… but apparently no one had been home.

_**Dammit Chuck. NO. I said FIX things w Blair. NOT fuck w Blair.  
**_

_**-Fucking w her will fix me, **__SIS-  
_

_**CHUCK.**_

"Oh, the poor man." Blair cooed, "Maybe I should go over and see how he's feeling today?"

_**  
-Gotta jet, catch u home. Lolita's on the prowl-  
**_

"B, no! Don't do it." Serena abandoned her frantic efforts to reason with Chuck and focused them on Blair instead.

"Don't do what, S?" Blair quirked an eyebrow as she struggled to her feet, avoiding Serena's flailing attempts to detain her.

"This. Don't do it. You'll regret it. There's something you don't kno-" Serena replied in a rush, lunging forward desperately.

Blair dodged Serena's reaching fingers as she limped back down the aisle, shooting a glance over her shoulder as she went. "I doubt that very much."

"B – !" Serena hissed after her, receiving a disapproving look from the headmistress before the auditorium lights dimmed and the stage lights came on.

*** *** ***

Chuck watched her hobble her way across the dimly lit auditorium and entertained the urge to throw her over his shoulder, carry her back to a poorly lit corner of the auditorium, and fuck her senseless.

"Waldorf," he leered as she began to stumble down the aisle towards him.

"Bass," she returned, grimacing as she attempted to put weight on her injured foot. He stayed rooted to his chair, only standing to offer her a hand when it clearly was no longer needed.

She considered his outstretched hand like she would a rattle snake poised to strike as she brushed past him to collapse daintily into the lap of a startled freshman.

*** *** ***

"Oh, did I just miss Blair? What a shame." Dan quipped, sarcasm emanating from his pores as he stood over Serena's slumped form. He bumped her knee with his own, inclining his head at the empty chair to her left.

"Yes." she mumbled, sliding into the empty seat so Dan wouldn't have to crawl over her to sit down.

He scratched his head, confused. "Under normal circumstances I would be suffering under the infamous evil eye right about now. What's wrong? Did this morning not go as planned?"

*** *** ***

"Dignity and decorum, indeed." Chuck muttered to himself as he sank back into his seat, shooting daggers at the shaggy haired boy to his left.

Blair turned her back to Chuck and smiled brightly at the boy, "I hope you don't mind."

The freshman shook his head nervously.

"Oh, good." Blair batted her eyes flirtatiously, "because I've banged up my ankle pretty badly." She lifted her leg to show him, her plaid skirt slipping up her thigh a few inches, "See?"

Chuck growled dangerously.

*** *** ***

"No. This morning went perfectly; I put it exactly where we decided." Serena answered, slouching in her seat to rest her head against the back of her chair, "And he even went to get my bag when I told him to."

Dan nodded, "Told you he would. It's the way he looks at her when he thinks nobody else is watching."

Serena laughed, "Are all literary geniuses creepy stalkers like yourself?"

"Observant." Dan corrected, winking playfully "A quality that comes in rather handy. Look."

Serena craned her neck awkwardly just in time to see Blair flop into Chuck's lap and a pale freshman scurry hurriedly away from the pair in the back row.

*** *** ***

"Well, that was rude." Blair huffed as she readjusted her skirt so that only her flimsy panties shielded her bare bottom from Chuck's pant leg. Her legs dangled in the v between his and she crossed them seductively, slowly brushing a shin against his crotch.

"I was thinking more along the lines of helpful." Chuck drawled, shifting her until her back rested against his chest and her bottom was nestled against his growing bulge.

*** *** ***

"This isn't good" Serena hissed.

"What? Why not? I thought this was all a part of your master plan?" Dan questioned the back of his girlfriend's head.

"No." Serena whipped around in her chair to rummage through her bag and thrust her cell phone into Dan's hands. "Here, read that."

"I don't get it." Dan complained, scrolling through the messages Chuck had sent her.

"The plan was for them to get over themselves and admit how they _feel_. Not feel each other up!" Serena whispered over her shoulder.

"Well, that might be kind of…_hard._" Dan muttered, still scrolling through the message logs.

"What do you know?" Serena eyed him carefully, spinning around to face him again as a guilty look crossed his features, "Spill!"

"Chuck hasn't been with anybody since Blair." Dan shrugged.

"What?! How do you – I don't even want to know." Serena scrunched her nose in disgust. Dan held her gaze until his meaning hit home, "EW." Chuck's words from this morning ran through Serena's head and she gasped. "Hold on… Chuck told me she 'broke' him… _literally_… and Blair was acting really strange before, all perky and asking questions about Chuck's health… you don't think she…"

"Found out Houston has a problem?" Dan smirked, entirely too satisfied with himself.

"I was gong to say 'mechanical problems'." Serena shuddered, turning her attention back to the couple across the room.

*** *** ***

Blair's eyes widened. She was in trouble, _BIG_, trouble. He wasn't limp and ineffective like she'd inaccurately thought he would be. He was hard, rock hard… and pressed against where she'd imagined him being merely an hour ago. A nervous squeak escaped her and he chuckled, his breath tickling the nape of her neck and sending shivers down her spine.

*** *** ***

Dan raised an eyebrow, "Hmm… well… I don't quite think –"

"No." Serena cut him off, not wanting to hear anymore allusions involving her step brother's anatomy, "Judging by the look on her face I'd say not– oh, God. I think I'm going to be sick."

*** *** ***

"There's an empty seat now." Blair said, cursing the slight tremble in her voice.

"Yes, so there is." Chuck agreed, but made no move to remove her from his lap. Instead, he slipped a hand up her skirt as he tickled his fingers from her knee to the thin scrap of silk covering her as heat. "Cool exterior… the fire below." he whispered provocatively in her ear, thanking God for his propensity to sit as far away from the stage – and everyone else – as possible.

Blair whimpered and parted her legs ever so slightly. He grinned into the nape of her neck and slipped a finger between silk and flesh.

*** *** ***

"They're practically having sex back there! We need to do something!" Serena squawked, panicking.

Dan hauled Serena to her feet abruptly, "I have an idea, grab your bag."

*** *** ***

Blair moaned as Chuck trailed a finger nail lightly over the nerve bundle between her thighs.

"Shhh, sweetheart" Chuck whispered, his voice low and gravelly, "you'll tip everyone off."

Blair nodded absently, her eyes falling shut as Chuck's nimble fingers slipped inside her.

"Is this how you touch yourself when you imagine it's me, Blair?" Chuck growled, nipping at her ear.

To far gone to deny his words, Blair merely nodded.

"God, you're wet. You want it pretty bad right now, huh?" Chuck grunted huskily, his own breath coming in quick pants against her shoulder blade.

"You," Blair whispered barely audibly, "I want you."

Chuck's fingers stilled, he had her exactly where he wanted her. In twenty seconds he could have her over his shoulder and halfway out the door. In twenty minutes he could have her wriggling beneath him, her ankles by her ears as he pounded into her. She bucked her lips against his hand slightly, urging him to continue and he smirked. "Prove it."

"Hmm?" Blair questioned.

"Say it." Chuck elaborated.

"Say what….I'll say anything you want." Blair panted.

"The White Party," Chuck flicked a finger inside her and she squirmed, "eight letters, three syllables… say it."

"I… I…" Blair fumbled for words, "I don't know what you're talking about."

"Oh, I think you do, _Princess_." Chuck countered, biting the sensitive spot between he neck and shoulder blade. He felt her inner walls clench around his fingers and smirked smugly. "Give it to me … and I'll _give it_ to you…"

"I…I…" Blair stuttered, "Will never say those words to you."

Anger and an emotion he refused to put a name to erupted in Chuck's belly, "Then you will never have me."

He pulled his fingers from her slick, warm centre brusquely. She tumbled to the cement floor as the shrill fire alarm suddenly pierced the air. "Have a nice life, Waldorf." he shouted down at her as he tucked his painfully erect shaft into the waistband of the underwear he'd nearly forgotten behind this morning. And then he was gone, lost in the panicked crowd.

*** *** ***

"Come on, B" Serena pleaded for the fiftieth time, "He's not here. Dan checked, twice."

"I don't want to talk about it." Blair huffed, pulling the pillow from behind her head to cover her face.

"I can go… get her more ice… if you want?" Dan stuttered, pushing a hand through his hair and shifting his weight uncomfortably.

"Yes. I hear there is quite the overabundance in Antarctica," Blair offered from beneath her feather filled shield.

"Alright, I can take a hint." Dan lifted his hands, palms out in surrender, as he backed towards Serena's door.

"No, Dan wait…" Serena held out a palm to stop him, "a man's perspective could be helpful. Blair."

"Ughh!" Blair sighed dramatically, "Fine! The Basstard wanted me to tell him that I love him."

"What!?" Serena squeaked, grabbing the pillow from Blair's face and launching it across the room.

"And did you?" Dan demanded, a hand on the doorknob.

"No! Of course not!" Blair hissed, shoving herself into a sitting position.

Dan cocked a busy eyebrow at the petite brunette spitfire, "And why not?"

Blair shot him a look normally reserved for incompetent staff, "Uhh…Because I don't?"

Dan looked from Blair to Serena and then back to Blair.

"Alright, FINE." Blair huffed as she flung herself back on Serena's bed again, "If I say it then Chuck wins."

"But if you say it, then you get him and you win." Dan pointed out, sending Serena a befuddled look.

"No, I lose." Blair spat haughtily. She glared at Serena and threw an angry hand in Dan's direction, "See, this is totally pointless."

"You're right; this whole game _is_ totally pointless." Serena nodded purposely being obtuse, "Why don't you just go next door and talk to him?"

Steam seeped from Blair's ears, "I thought you said he wasn't home?"

"I might have… lied." Serena said unknowingly inching her way back on the bed out of Blair's reach.

"Serena!" Blair screeched, vaulting into an upright position and launching the remaining pillow at her head.

"Blair, he's got a point" Serena ducked the pillow easily and it slid to a stop against Dan's feet, "Why don't you just go talk to him?"

"Or…" A slow smile spread across Blair's red lips, "I could turn his precious little game on him"

"Blair…" Serena cautioned, crossing her arms against her chest.

"I think I will take that ice now, Humphrey. Thank you." Blair turned a sickeningly sweet smile on Dan, before throwing Serena a determined look. "S, hand me my bag. I believe this calls for Daddy's birthday perfume."

"Lord help us all." Serena muttered under her breath, handing Blair her Chloe purse as Dan escaped into the kitchen.

"Hmm… that's odd. I could have sworn I put it back in here after I…" catching herself, Blair faked an awkward sounding cough, "Uh, used it… this morning."

"Oh," Serena twisted a lock of hair around her finger, "I might have used the last of it this morning when I borrowed it. Here put this on instead, he won't notice anything else, trust me."

Blair fingered the nearly see-through silk robe, a devilish glint in her eye, "We'll just see who seduces who into saying what."

Serena choked back a wave of nausea as she turned her back, giving Blair her privacy while she changed.

"Don't wait up!" Blair winked over her shoulder at Serena as she hobbled past Dan on his way back into the room.

"Blair?" Serena craned her neck to see past Dan. "You can keep the robe; I definitely don't want it back!"

*** *** ***

He opened the door, scotch in hand.

"What do you want?"

His yellow dress shirt was crumpled, the sleeves pushed carelessly up his forearms. She could see his suit jacket and tie lying at opposite ends of the room, as if he'd thrown a fit and heaved them in every direction. His hair spiked out everywhere, no doubt the result of his incessant restless hands. His eyes were red rimmed and a little glassy, leaving Blair to wonder exactly how much of the amber liquid he'd been able to consume over the past – she discreetly flicked a glance over his shoulder at the clock – hour and a half.

"Looks like someone's getting an early start," Blair quirked an eyebrow at the half empty tumbler in his hand, straining to keep the concern out of her voice – she was not going to care.

"Didn't think you cared." Scotch dribbled down his forearm as he motioned widely with the tumbler.

She eyed him, something fluttering in her stomach as he gulped down the remaining liquid. "I don't."

"Just say whatever carefully crafted remark you came to say and get the hell out of my life." he slurred, leaning heavily on the open door to support his weight.

"Dramatic." Blair drawled as she pushed her way past Chuck into his room, "I came to talk."

Chuck snorted, turning to follow her and eyeing the way the silk clung to her perfect ass, "Dressed like that? I don't think so."

"Chuck…" she winced in pain as her swollen toe contacted something small and metal. Intrigued, she looked down to find a familiar looking gold cylinder rolling back and forth on its side. It looked like a part of… but why wasn't it attached to… and how would it have gotten back into his room after…unless…

"Is this what you want Blair?" Chuck roared, reclaiming her attention as he stalked forward to haul her against him, "You want me to fuck you senseless then slap you on your ass and send you on your way? Is that it?!"

"No" Blair whispered, all other thoughts but those concerning his full lips falling from her head.

"No?" Chuck taunted, "You don't want me to do this…?" He backed her up until she was sandwiched between warm, muscled chest and cold, hard plaster.

Blair faintly shook her head no.

"Or this…?" His breath smelled of cigars and scotch and he trailed wet, open mouthed kisses down her neck. "What about this? Do you want me to do this?" He pushed the silk robe from her shoulders, alternating between kissing and nipping his way across her collarbone. "What about this?" He scraped his teeth against a scantily clad pert nipple, "Or this?" He lowered himself to his knees, kissing his way down her flat stomach, "Or this?" He pushed the silk scrap between her thighs to the side with a finger and whispered a kiss against her curls, "Can I do this, baby?"

"Don't call me baby" She responded automatically prickling at the hated endearment.

He chuckled, her knees buckling as he darted out his tongue to taste her "Seems to me this is exactly what you want."

"Yes" she croaked, barely above a whisper.

"Then you know how to get it," he whispered back, his cold breath tingling against her heat.

"No." She pushed her palms against his shoulders firmly, and he fell backwards from the unexpected force behind her actions. "You're drunk."

"And you're-" He cut off abruptly as he scrambled to his feet, a bare foot coming down hard on the forgotten gold cylinder. He bent tipsily to retrieve the object, intent on hurling it against the wall but stopped when he saw what it was. "In love with me."

"What?" She squeaked. Leave it to him to recognize exactly what the little gold thing was, and its significance, despite Blair's lack of involvement in its current presence in the room. She was going to kill Serena. "No."

"Yes." He smiled smugly and took a cocky step towards her, "You are. I know what this is, Blair. I've smelled you on my sheets for months. And now I know why."

Blair shook her head weakly as he advanced another arrogant step. Her hands came up to push against his chest feebly, "Am not."

He dipped his head to leisurely capture her lips and she sighed, "Yes. You are."

She tore her lips away from his, scowling. "NO," she repeated emphatically and spun them around so that he was pinned to the wall. Her lips crashed down on his, her hands gripped his shoulders tightly. She ground her hips into his forcefully and bit his bottom lip, nearly drawing blood.

He gathered her in his arms to dip her backward, "Yes." His eyes held hers as he deliberately lowered his lips to softly graze them along her jaw. Her eyes slid shut of their own volition. Her fingers found their own way into the velvety hairs at the nape of his neck as he kissed her again thoroughly.

"Mmmm," she mumbled against his lips as he lifted her off her feet to deposit her with care atop his bare mattress. She glared at him as he freed himself of his clothing. "No sheets," she said defiantly.

"Don't need them anymore." he said, looking at her pointedly and climbing onto the bed beside her. He stroked the pad of his thumb across her chin before sliding a hand into her hair and drawing her lips to his.

"Chuck…" She breathed against his mouth as he settled his weight on top of her, "I am."

He linked their hands above hear head, unknowingly rubbing the fourth finger of her left hand with his thumb. "Blair…" He kissed the tip of her nose, "I know."

She scoffed and untangled a hand to smack his arm. He winked. A wide grin lit his handsome face as he parted her legs to tenderly make love to her atop the uncovered mattress.

Blair was going to do more than just buy Serena a new robe… she was going to throw her a parade.

* * *

_A/N To clarify: Blair spilt perfume in Chuck's room. Then started spraying it all over his sheets when the scent started to fade. Serena left the bottle in Chuck's room (the one that shattered) so Chuck would find it and figure out what Blair had been doing:)._

_Oh, and the little gold cylinder, was the perfume nozzle/sprayer thingie. :)  
_

_THANK YOU TO FEEF, Red, Katy and everyone!_

_-Lynne_


	7. Baby Aspirin

_**A/N I own nothing, yadda yadda. Yes I am continuing Mahogany, like I've mentioned several times in the authors notes. This is just a cute fluffy piece for Feef, since she's been suffering through all the angst in 'Til the End. Not too raunchy, but don't worry – it's coming back around, and soon. Thank you to RonWeasley1975 for inspiring the idea. As always PLEASE take a minute to drop me a line. Un betated… so FEEF… I'm looking at you… be nice. Grammatical errors are purposely inflicted on this piece, stream of consciousness. Thanks to my Beth! It is suggested you reread Vertical to fully understand the gist.  


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**_

I'm lying in bed on my side. My head pillowed on my hand, staring down at my sleeping wife. She'd fillet me alive if she caught me just watching her sleep. Or more than likely start wearing see through lingerie to bed to torture me… more than she already does, that is.

But I just can't seem to help myself lately. She glows. And it gets me hard just thinking about how she got to be that way. It's funny; in all the years I spent admiring – her words – the female form I'd never once found pregnant women to be attractive. In fact they down right repulsed me. Their ankles swell, their waist lines expand exponentially, and things _grow._ Yes. GROW. My 'goddamn' baby book – quite the potty mouth my blushing bride has when she's knocked up – has an entire chapter devoted to it. They sprout Sasquatch feet practically the moment your boys pillage and plunder their eggs. True, their breasts enlarge rather nicely but ever since a certain little brunette minx climbed on stage and out of every stitch of her clothing save for a peek-a-boo negligee, I've inexplicably been a legs man.

I'll even go so far as to admit pregnant women terrified the living shit out of me. I'd never been around a knocked up sow in my life (thank God for magnum condoms) for longer than it took to sprint in the opposite direction. They are hormonal and unstable, and since they can't very well hack off the penis responsible for their 'condition', they attempt to do so to any and all substitutes within a fifty mile radius. At thirteen I'd told my father I believed a man out to save his balls from his knife wielding wife had invented the 'glow' myth and men everywhere had gratefully ran with it.

But no more. She is absolutely beautiful - extremely pregnant or otherwise.

Her long chestnut lashes rest peacefully against her porcelain cheeks, her full lips that entranced and enticed me at seventeen, and still breath life into me with every kiss, are ever so slightly parted. Making me want to nibble them desperately. I get hard just looking at her, thinking about looking at her, really. There is just something about this woman; round and pregnant with my children that completely and absolutely just… turns me right the fuck on. Not that I needed the help where she's concerned. I haven't had sex with a woman who isn't currently my wife (sometimes that word completely catches me off guard, particularly when it's used to refer to _Blair Waldorf_) since I was seventeen years old. Haven't wanted to have sex with anybody _but_ my wife since the afternoon she climbed on top of my bare mattress, admitting to me in so many words that she was in love with me and, cue cheesy music, _made love_ to me for the first time. Yes, we'd had sex before. Kinky raunchy, top shelf fuckable sex. But she'd never looked at me with happy tears in those brown eyes. Never lovingly traced the contours of my face as I filled her. Never whispered my name in the darkness as we lay intertwined, recharging our batteries for more. I'd toppled over the edge right then and there. And I've never told her this, but I asked my father for my mother's engagement ring the second she slipped into sleep and the feeling returned to my legs.

Blair sighs beside me, mumbling something incoherently to the ceiling. Her dark hair cascades in waves to her shoulders, a length she knows I fucking love and threatens to take scissors to whenever she feels that I deserve it - which is often. She's nestled comfortably between in the crème silk of our sheets, sighing softly in her sleep. I refuse outright to sleep on anything other than silk, and have done so since the first night she climbed wet and naked into my bed the summer before our senior year. She'd roll her eyes exaggeratedly and accuse me of being sentimental and, though I'd never admit it to her face, she'd probably be right. She'd think so she even if she wasn't.

Some things never change... thank God.

She shifts in her sleep, rubbing her bottom tauntingly against my crotch and I know she's awake. We haven't had sex in four days, twelve hours, and thirty six minutes… and twenty seven seconds – but who's counting, really? After the first fifty five hours I had to adjust my gait for my permanently, and rather painfully hard dick. Dick. She hates that word. I've made it a point to use it as often as possible the last two days because I've noticed when Blair Bass (I smirk) decides she hates a word that I love to drawl in the tone of voice she'd fuck even Carter Baizen for speaking in, I know its because it makes her nearly come just hearing it. That's my Blair. Prim, proper, society princess, and an animal on her back… and on her knees… and straddling my… I groan and wonder if she's ready to give in quiet just yet.

"Baby…" I whisper in her ear because, even though she'll glare daggers at me and swear to high heaven she hates it, I know the sexist little pet name makes her insides melt.

Her eyes are closed and her breathing is relatively even but I'm not fooled. Her nipples could cut diamonds. I graze the pad of my thumb across one erect nipple and she arches into my touch, eyes still closed.

I press an open mouthed kiss to the hollow of her neck. "Blair baby…" I breathe, letting my warm breath ghost across the wet trail my lips have made on her skin. She shudders.

She plays at being unaffected by our latest bought of sexual warfare but I can hear the constant hum of batteries when I shower or take a conference call down the hall. She needs it just as badly as I do. I harden painfully just thinking about her touching herself. If I don't get inside her, and get inside her soon, Dorota will be one unhappy woman.

"I know you're not sleeping woman," I growl as a slowly kiss my way down the valley between her breast, "so get up and fuck your husband."

She moans a response but doesn't open her eyes.

"Come on… you know this has to end sometime tonight," I drawl huskily, liking a teasing circle just around the outside of one hard nipple, "the appointment is tomorrow."

"Then we'll just have to wait and let nature take its course, won't we?" She retorts. Her eyes are remain closed but her mouth is hanging open just a little and she's unknowingly parted her thighs in an invitation.

"I just want to get a head start on my list of names for the boys," I say innocently. She'd adamant that we be surprised. I'm adamant that my hunch be confirmed. Although I guess you can't call it a hunch when you've stacked the deck in your favor. Really, she shouldn't be surprised, I'm Chuck Bass. It's what I do. Although on that note, she's Blair Bass and it's what _she_ does. Which is why I wasn't surprised when my step mother recounted her conversation with my better half at Serena's housewarming almost three months ago. Actually, I'd have been rather disappointed if Blair _hadn't_ figured it out. My victory will be that much sweeter when she realizes she's been duped and I've been winning our games without her being the wiser for _years._ Smirking to myself I shift my mouth an inch to the left, finally sucking on nipple through her barely there negligee. Her toes curl under and I chuckle.

"It won't work," she says with more bravado that I know she's feeling, "I'm asleep."

"Well then I'll just have to wake you up." I brace myself on my elbows over her, rubbing my dick between her parted legs and being careful not put too much weight on her very swollen belly. She's insistent I couldn't squish the babies if I tried but I'd rather be safe than sorry. And I can't stand the thought of hurting them or her for even a fraction of a second.

"Chuck," she moans, though I'm fairly certain she meant for it to leave her lips bitingly and not breathily. I consider briefly letting her win; after all waiting another two months to be proven right will just sweeten the victory further from the anticipation. And give me time to think up an escape route if she ever were to learn that that chicken casserole I so lovely learned how to make when we were first married wasn't really chicken at all but tuna. Or that Lily got it wrong and her mother's old wives tales were meant to be employed _before_ conception not _after._

I shift my weight back off her to once again lay on my side and she opens her eyes, confused. I smile, a genuine smile I think she's seen on my lips all of ten times. She eyes me apprehensively. I tickle my fingers across her chin gently and a tiny tear escapes out of the corner of her eye. I wipe it away with the pad of my thumb and lean in to brush her lips softly with mine. It's corny and it's cheesy and it's _true;_ she's the axis on which my world rotates …I rub protective circles to her rounded belly…_ they're_ the axis. My wife. Our children. "I love you, Blair Bass," I say, ignoring the slight and sudden thickness to my voice. She whispers a kiss against my lips, all the while biting her tongue in an effort not to correct her last name.

I smile. Oh, yes. I think I will let her win this one. I grab the silk sheet covering her lower half and fling it from her body. She smiles coyly as I grab her hips and pivot them so that I can kneel between her legs and taste her until she's withering from the sheer pleasure of my tongue against her sex.

Because I'm going to need every ounce of stock piled goodwill I can get when she finds out that baby aspirin is an ineffective though visually similar substitute for her birth control pill.

* * *

A/N Thank you to everyone who's been reviewing! Those of you reading TTE already know what I'm about to say, but update's might be scarce for the next week or so, real life is knocking... but I'll be back!

Lynne


	8. Mirrors

_**A/N I don't own anything. This is set after the high school flash backs but BEFORE Cotton and Mahogany. I KNOW, I'm annoying with the jumpy jumpy. I'm sorry. Blame the muse. Please let me know what you think! THANKS TO CHER AND FEEF!!!!  
**_

* * *

Charles Bartholomew Bass. Why anybody would ever name their child something that sounded like a play by play commentary of someone yakking – I'll never know. But I married him anyway. A year ago today, to be exact.

I smooth the silk bodice of my nightgown down my hips. He has good taste, my husband. Not that I would ever admit that to his dangerously handsome face. He'd smirk that smirk I pretend infuriates me and I'd somehow end up on my back… or my hands and knees… or like that one time in Germany; swinging from the rafters. There was a lot of liquor involved – I don't like to talk about it.

The bands on my left hand catch the light and wink at me in the mirror. Yes, definitely good taste. And a heart – though he likes to believe I don't know it beats only for me. He's a huge softy, my husband. Alright, that isn't entirely true. He's huge – yes, but most of the time he isn't soft; quite the opposite, actually. In fact, most of the time he prances around the penthouse; semi hard and extremely proud of himself. And I take great pleasure in keeping him that way. It does me well to always have him ready to go (not that he ever needed help in that department.) For reasons other than you might think, too. Take this morning, for example. The first anniversary of the day he shackled himself to me legally. His words, not mine. Yes, _I know._ But nothing hits Chuck Bass where it counts more than thinking he's getting his wife on her knees only to be rudely and _sorely _mistaken. He's been glowering at me from across the room, squirming in his chair to readjust the impressive bulge at his crotch, and grumbling loudly for hours. Like I said, his over developed libido comes in handy.

I adjust the sliver of a strap against the creamy skin of my shoulder, trailing my fingers across my collar bone and slowly up my neck.

He groans and I smirk.

The only thing Chuck Bass and Clark Kent ever had in common: kryptonite.

I can see him in the mirror, eyes hungry and devouring the sight of my ass peeking out from under the flimsy swatch of silk he's bought me. His gaze drifts to my thighs and the crotch of his pants jumps violently. He loves my legs. I once got him to come by merely crossing and uncrossing my legs against his under the table at my mother's annual Thanksgiving party. Eleanor had given him the strangest of looks and he'd made up some excuse about admiring the vase in the center piece while I giggled uncontrollably. We'd gotten the vase this past Christmas as her gift.

I readjust the hem of the emerald silk. For some reason he's bought me a negligee in every shade of green. I suspect it has something to do with a certain peak-a-boo slip worn during a certain performance at a certain burlesque club in the fall of our junior year. I don't mind – another weapon for my arsenal; all's fair in love and war.

He grumbles under his breath and I catch the word 'woman'. I am not particularly a fan of the word – though I realize it is in fact, my gender. I reach my other hand up into my hair, sweeping it up off my shoulders and massage the nape of my neck. He swears a string of curses a ship full of sailors would be embarrassed to hear and I grin at his reflection in the mirror. He glares back. I bat my eyes innocently.

"Something the matter, _darling?_" I ask, my voice sickeningly sweet.

"No," he barks; the tiny word infused with frustration.

I turn around and let my hair cascade back to my shoulders. He gulps.

"I do hope you aren't feeling ill," I reply, infusing my voice with fake concern. I finger the silk between my breasts, _accidentally_ grazing a nipple. His crotch jumps again and I feel a sympathetic pull between my legs. My tongue darts out unknowingly to moisten my lips as I gaze appreciatively between his thighs. His eyes narrow and I feel the energy in the hotel room shift; I've given him ammunition and he knows it.

"Baby," he drawls huskily because he's just recently figured out that I don't actually _hate_ the pet name as much as I claim to.

Heat pulses against the crotch of my emerald lace panties.

"Yes?" I attempt – and fail miserably – to keep my voice even.

He smirks and pushes himself to his feet arrogantly.

"You look a little _flush_," he emphasizes the word, his hands in his pockets, "are you feeling alright?"

"Yes, yes. Quite well, thank you." I rush the words out, turning my back on him to brush my hair in the mirror.

He crosses the room confidently, the sounds of his bare feet approaching muffled against the plush Parisian carpeting. I can feel his body heat against where his anniversary present dips low on my back. His skin against mine is my undoing. A fact he's known – and exploited shamelessly – ever since _that _night in the back of his limo.

"Let me," he whispers in my ear, sliding the brush from my hand.

Shivers race down my spine and my already pert nipples begin to tingle as bristles massage my scalp. He slowly drags the brush through my hair and I moan low in my throat.

"Feels nice?" he asks innocently, his erection prodding my backside.

I nod, not trusting my voice.

He smirks against my nearly bare shoulder, reaching around me to toss the brush onto my vanity.

"Blair…" he whispers, his eyes locking onto mine in the mirror. He trails his palm from my hip to my breast, kneading it gently.

I shake my head feebly; "You called me woman."

"You are my woman," he growls, his voice low and husky.

I roll my eyes but the sudden moisture between my legs beguiles my annoyed response.

"You didn't let me pack," I offer weakly instead.

Because he hadn't. He'd rushed me out of the penthouse yesterday nearly the second I'd opened my eyes. I hadn't even been allowed to grab my toothbrush. The only articles of clothing I had were his old, worn Yale sweatshirt I'd slept in and the emerald silk he'd so graciously agreed to buy me.

"You weren't going to be needing your clothes," he kisses the sensitive spot behind my ear and my knees buckle. He wraps a muscled arm around my waist to steady me and slips a finger between emerald lace and flesh.

"God, you're wet, baby," he whispers, his breath hot against my ear, "feel how wet you are." He guides my hand between my legs and I follow the movement in the mirror. I catch my lip between my teeth as I watch him direct my fingers toward my clit.

"You like that," he breathes heavily.

I nod, my eyes never leaving our joined hands in the mirror.

He slips his fingers from me and grabs my hips with both hands, bending me forward. Our gazes lock in the mirror as he pushes lace aside, preparing to position himself at my entrance.

"You didn't let me pack!" I squeak, jumping upright and whirling to face him.

"You've already used that one…" he laughs, pinning me against the dresser with his weight. He thrusts his tongue into my mouth, mimicking the motion of our joined hands between my legs moments ago.

"No!" I protest but before I know it he's pulled back and thrown me on top of the vanity next to my hair brush. He grins at me widely before crushing his lips against mine again. And then my mind is too hazy to remember the reason for my protest.

"Chuck…" I moan his name and wrap my legs around his waist.

He bites my bottom lip, hard. I push his pajama pants from his hips, scratching the sensitive skin between his hip bone and thigh. He makes a sound low in his throat somewhere between a moan and a growl and runs his free hand up to squeeze my thigh. He yanks the thing scrap of lace roughly aside again to rub his head against my opening and I freeze once more.I reach a hand down and wrap it around his girth, stopping him, "My pills are at home."

His fingers still and his breath catches in his throat. He lifts his eyes to mine slowly.

We've never talked about it. Having a baby. It's one of the few subjects I haven't dared to touch with a ten foot pole. And truthfully, after the paint by numbers relationship with Nate in which my entire life right down to the 2.5 kids and dog was planned out, (not to mention the nightmare removing bodily fluids from Dior would be for Dorota) I was glad the subject was taboo. But lately I can't help picture what a delicate little girl with his brown eyes or a devilish little boy with his mischievous smirk would look like. The moment weighs heavily between us, even though I know it would take more than three days off the pill for me to get pregnant. He swallows, his eyes never leaving mine, and nods. I let out the breath I'd been holding, expecting him to back away slowly but he tugs my panties further to the side. My eyes widen, locked on his as he slowly enters me.

"It makes a difference," he says, his voice soft, "it feels… different; no protection."

I nod because it does. It's more… intense, somehow. He lifts my hips slowly to match his rhythm, his eyes never leaving mine. They're a caramel brown in the soft light of the room and swim with emotions I know are reflected in my own. He lowers his gaze to where our bodies are joined, trailing a hand from my hip to press his palm against my abdomen as he slips back inside me. I place my palm on top of his. His eyes find mine again, a hint of unshed tears shinning in them.

"I love you," I whisper, fighting back my own sudden tears.

He leans in, tenderly pressing his lips to mine as he brings us both slowly to climax.

Luxuriously spent, he carries me to the bed and snuggles into my back beneath the covers. "Happy Anniversary, Blair," he whispers softly as I drift off to sleep.

And a few weeks later when the familiar discomfort of my period makes itself known I can't help but feel a tiny pang of loss.

So I start _accidentally_ dropping that tiny white pill down the sink every morning while my loving husband showers.

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_A/N TONS of references in this one. Mostly to previous chapters. Points to anyone who can spot them!_

_Lynne_


	9. Ambush

_**A/N I don't own anything. So this one gave me some trouble. I wanted to write it from BOTH their perspectives and include a bromance C/N scene. Not too sure how it turned out. Please let me know. Scenes in italics are Chuck's flashbacks/thoughts.**_

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1:07 a.m.

She's lying on her right side, her back facing me. Her lace teddy, the one I know she bought with torturing me in mind, falling off one smooth, silk shoulder. I gently trace the length of her gorgeous neck with the tips of my fingers, dropping soft kisses to that spot behind her ear. She exhales happily in her sleep and unconsciously cuddles her back into my chest. I readjust my body behind hers, sliding one arm beneath her head, the other down to play with the fingers of her left hand. She smells like vanilla and lavender and pure heaven, which is the opposite of where I'd end up if dear Nathaniel is right.

He is convinced she will hate it, fucking detest it, and has told me so on many occasions. One of which I'm positive I heard the distinct sound of him blowing his load with two brunette stewardesses in the background. He's become quite the whore whisperer since his brief foray into Lady Catherine's fountain of youth.

I choose respectively to disagree and plan on rubbing it in his face as smugly as possible when my version completely eradicates any lingering romantic fantasies of his from her mind. In fact, I have wagered my entire inheritance that he doesn't know shit, or _her_ any better than he could have seen her through his fugly man bang, which, for the record (you are welcome mankind), I disposed of. I thank fuck for Tequila and a drunkenly inspired Chuck Bass before I drift back to sleep, satisfied.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

8:11 a.m.

He's nervous. His jaw is clenched, his shoulders tensed and his eyes a muddy brown. Chuck Bass is never nervous; he's brash and bold and dangerously sexy – but _never_ nervous.

I lift my left hand to palm his cheek, water from the shower we're standing in dribbles from his wet hair and down my arm. "You ok?"

A muscle in his jaw twitches as I stroke his cheek. He flicks a quick glance at my palm before nodding jerkily, "fine."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

_We'd been celebrating our impending graduations from Yale and Dartmouth respectively, he with a red head and I with a succession of two finger scotches, when I drunkenly – and stupidly – asked him how he would have popped the question had I not deflowered her in the back of my now favourite mode of transportation. He motioned widely with the arm he'd slung around the scantily clad, buxom redhead (a nurse by the name of Claire who was remarkably intelligent for her dress length), spilling Tequila down her bare arm, and slurred, "I dunno dude. Prolly woulda hadta rent out Tiffany's and buy a horse 'n carriage. Name the horse 'Cat' or somethin." _

_I scoffed, "Somehow I can't quite fathom B relishing that proposal." My inebriated vocabulary and annunciation are far superior to the resident golden boy's, most likely from years of experience in the field. _

_Insulted, he posited another possible scenario. "Surrounded by rowses under the Eifflel Tower."_

_I laughed so hard I sprayed the sip of scotch I'd just taken through my nose._

_Claire's red chiffon mini dress had turned three shades darker under the amount of booze Elmer Fudd had spilt on it. "Hokay, smarts panties. How would you popose?"_

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

He's distracted. I'm standing in front of him naked, water sliding down my pert breasts and turned on as hell, and he's distracted. If I could see the sky right now I'm sure it would be falling.

"Chuck?" I ask, stepping forward to loop my arms around his neck and press my breasts against his hairy chest.

"Hmm?" he mumbles, his arms automatically encircling my waist to trace patterns the length of my back.

"Fuck me," I whisper in his ear. And I have him at full attention… in more ways than one.

He pins me roughly against the tiles, his lips crushed to mine, and knees apart my thighs. He slips a hand between our water slicked bodies to finger my clit. "Somebody's in a mood today," he drawls huskily in my ear when he feels just how wet and ready I am.

I nod, unable to find my voice, and buck my hips frantically against his hand.

"You want it pretty badly, huh?" he smirks arrogantly, sliding a finger inside me.

"Yes," I manage to pant, not wanting to prologue the wriggling ecstasy on this particular morning, "Right now."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"_I'm going to slip it on her finger when she's asleep," I answered simply, and took a healthy sip of scotch to keep the nervous butterflies I refused to acknowledge in my stomach company. _

_He cackled like a hyena on Meth until even the combination of copious amounts of liquor and natural cluelessness couldn't stop the light from dawning inside his blonde head. "Woa – wait," he sputtered at a volume louder than he most likely would have sober; "…you're popping the…seriously?"_

~*~*~*~*~*~*~

He flips me around so that my back is pressed to his chest, his erection rubbing tauntingly against my ass. He tangles a hand in my hair and yanks my head to the side. "Patience, love," he chides, sinking his teeth into the side of my neck. Shivers of painful pleasure radiate through my body and pulse between my thighs. "Hands on the wall, Waldorf," he orders, his voice thick with his own heavy need.

I obey immediately; if there is one thing Chuck Bass knows it's how to bring Blair Waldorf excruciating pleasure. Eyes closed in anticipation, I spread my palms against the tiles and he freezes for a split second behind me, but I'm too far gone to notice.

"Yea, baby. Just like that," He breathes, raking his hands up the length of my arms to my shoulders and down my back. He grabs my hips, bending me slightly at the waist to angle me forward and grind his shaft against my slick folds.

"Please…" I pant, moving to bring my own hand down between my legs to where he refuses to burry himself inside me.

"Ah, ah, ah," he scolds, capturing my left hand and pinning it to the shower wall beneath his, "not so fast."

I moan and rock my hips, rubbing myself against the length of him. I'm so ready that the sweet friction alone nearly pushes me over the edge.

"I want you inside me," I beg, my breathing labored, "NOW."

~*~*~*~*~*~

_Nathaniel choked on thin air and I grinned ear to ear, a blush I vigorously deny, but that he will die claiming he remembers, heating my cheeks. Though how a man who needed to be informed at thirteen that Santa Claus was indeed fictional, and that 'at gun point' was how a person was mugged and not where, could discern drunk flush from nervously excited flush, I'll never know. _

"_Woa," he repeated, forgetting the redhead beneath his arm and moving to swipe his hand down his face. Claire rose, politely excusing herself to the ladies' room to escape Elmer and his dribble cup. _

_Focused on Nathaniel, I nodded, grin still in place, and pulled out the ring I secretly had been carrying around in my pocket since her eighteenth birthday._

"_That's…" my wasted best man-to-be choked out. _

"_Yea…" I acknowledged, "my mother's ring."_

~*~*~*~*~*~

He chuckles into the hollow of my neck at my impatient demand and releases my hips to palm my breasts, "Good things _cum_ to those who wait." He strokes the pad of his thumbs against my tingling nipples at a tantalizing slow pace. I moan low in my throat and he abandons my nipples abruptly to again grasp my hips with both hands, jerking me backwards forcefully onto his erection. I cry out, blissful pressure emanating throughout my body until, just as quickly, he's pulled himself from me.

"Uhhh" I groan in frustration, throwing my head back against his shoulder. His deep, mocking laugh rumbles in his chest against my back and I throb with need where he'd filled me to the hilt only moments ago. He sighs into my hair, ghosting a gentle kiss to my temple and the mood shifts subtly.

My voice low and husky, I whisper; "Make love with me."

~*~*~*~*~*~

_We shot and killed the elephant in the room with a simple; "Thank God is you 'n not me," and ordered two celebratory bottles of both Tequila and Scotch._

_Halfway through the second bottle of Scotch he asked me how I knew she was it for me. I shrugged a drunken shoulder and slurred for the first time since I was eight, "Jusdoo."_

_He made a motion with his head that would have been a nod about bottle and a half of Tequila ago, "Always did." _

_Why the fuck man Barbie's powers of perception only seem to be alcohol induced while the rest of us don beer goggles, and make decisions right up there with rubbing A535 on our balls and fucking Georgina Sparks, is beyond me. God is most likely a woman. I drunkenly wonder if she's hot. Brown doe eyes, chestnut curls, porcelain skin, ruby lips… oh yea, God is definitely my kinda woman. _

"_Guess so," I shrugged, because though I could pinpoint the exact moments when I'd begun to accept it, and when I'd tumbled over the edge, fully giving into it; the precise moment in which Blair Waldorf had become my fate eluded me._

_Nathaniel tilted his wobbly head to the side and giggled in a squeaky voice, "I wuz in wuv with Blair, 'n I'm sowee. Pwease forgive me, Natey." _

"_Alright, alright that's enough – Natey," I drawled, knocking over our now empty bottle of Scotch as I waved off his antics._

"_I'm Chuck Bass 'n I'm in love with Cornelius Wadorf." He continued despite my protests, his eyes glassy and grin toothy. _

"_Cut it out Fitzwilly," I stuttered, waving one of the four hands I was seeing at his fugly fringe, "or I'll unbang your man." _

"_Mrs. and Mr. Cornelius Wadorf," he giggled like a twelve year old girl, ignoring my very sloshed and badly executed threat, "That is, if she doesn't kill you 'n your seep for poposing in hers!" _

"_Says the ass smart who bought'er Texas Chainsaw Massacre as an aninversaray gif!" And I'm nearly positive, like a petulant five year old, I stuck my tongue out at him. _

_The cackling hyena wandered back into the bar then; a lot drunker and a hundred times more annoying. "She's gunna fucking detest it bro, I'll book yur testical retrieval surgery now," he proclaimed slapping a palm to the sticky table before his head lolled down beside it, unconscious; the detested fringe plastered against his face._

"_S'exuse me, Miss?" In love and drunk Chuck is respectfully polite to women, I've discovered. The passing waitress nodded and I continued, "Scissors for me please, and tab for gone-zo over here." She nodded like she had understood but brought me a steak knife instead. Some people should just be required to or wear stupid signs._

_Or die their hair blonde. _

~*~*~*~*~*~

He drops a tender kiss to my shoulder and tilts my hips forward to grant himself better entrance to where I want him most, "Always." My head falls forward in delight between my still raised arms as he slowly guides his length inside me. My eyes roll back in my head and my toes curl as he runs a palm against the sensitive skin on my spine, slowly sets the slow rhythm of our love making. I roll my hips in time with his and can feel him harden further inside me, our impending peaks nearly upon us. A moan slips from my lips to mingle with his in the heavy cloud of steam encircling us. He reaches a hand down between my legs and presses a finger to my nub, fireworks exploding instantly behind my closed eye lids. He grunts as the heavenly waves of sheer bliss wracking my body draw an answering release from him. Sated, he pulls himself from me and wraps his arms around my waist. I sigh contentedly, snuggling back into his chest and hug his arms to me.

"Marry me" he demands against my neck in a soft whisper, all earlier traces of nervousness gone from his voice.

My heart stops beating in my chest and my eyes fly open. I move to twist in his arms and face him, but something blue and sparkly, and _on my finger,_ catches my eye.

"What…how…" I stutter, staring at the simple, yet exquisitely beautiful sapphire nestled in a white gold band around the finger on my left hand where his promise ring used to sit.

He turns my stunned form in his arms and smirks, "Where, when, why?"

I raise shocked brown eyes to mischievous amber ones, "You little mother chucker."

He chuckles, "Oh, come on, Waldorf." He sneaks a quick kiss from stunned lips that automatically (and traitorously) respond in kind. I've decided that had I been more coherent I would have bit him - "Like you'd say no to Chuck Bass." - and bit him hard.

Mostly, because he's right and I won't – can't – say no to him. Not even when the Basshole ambushes me during the best sex of my life with a proposal – if you can even call what he did 'proposing'.

I find that, despite myself, I am crying tears of joy and grinning as my head bobs up and down, "Yes."

He smiles a genuine smile I think I have seen grace his lips all of four times and moves to pepper my face with kisses, but I stop him with a palm to his chest, "On one condition."

He quirks a suspicious eyebrow, "What's that?"

I cross my arms against my naked breasts and point to the ceramic floor, "_**Ask **_me properly."

"You want me to get on my knees in the _shower _and propose to you." He rolls his eyes exaggeratedly, "_**Again**_?"

I merely glare at him.

He sighs and shakes his head incredulously.

"On one knee," I quip at the top of his dark head as he lowers himself to the floor.

My loving _fiance_ grins devilishly but I don't catch it. I'm too busy examining the gorgeous engagement ring as I slip it from my finger to pass it down to him. It looks suspiciously like the engagement ring in the photos of his parents wedding that I surreptitiously snuck a peak at this morning while heshowered.

But I don't tell him that, or anything else for that matter, because the Basstard's tongue against my still sensitive sex is making me forget my name is Blair Waldorf.

I make a mental note to add a second, hyphen related condition to my acceptance of his proposal before I can't think about anything else but shoving my fingers through his hair and moaning.

* * *

_A/N THANK YOU to everyone who has been reviewing, they make my day and will me through bouts of writer's block. Yes, the vase, Blair's self loving and all the other ones you perceptively picked out WHERE references in the last chap. :)_

_If you are wondering when I'll get to updating TTE, hopefully this weekend. Thanks for being patient!_

_Lynne_


	10. Secret Key

_**A/N THANK YOU to everyone who has been reviewing, reviews are love. I love you all:). Please take a minute to let me know how this turned out. i won nothing, yadda yadda**_

_**THANK YOU KATY!! and CHER!!**_

* * *

I'm lying on my back, in what my ever-so-loving-and-charming husband refers to as my 'beached whale' position (oh, don't worry, he'll get what's coming to him) as comfortably as I can manage as I listen to him snore beside me. Not that I can actually _see_ him beside me; the weight of his _spawn_ hatching within me sinks me so far down into our mattress that it looks like someone left one of those half exercise balls (you know, like the ones I would have balanced on doing squats before the mother chucker went and knocked me up) laying on my side of the bed. But I can hear the freight train coming down the tracks and around the corner clear as day – though he refuses to admit he sounds like anything of the sort, regardless of how many times I've stuck my cell phone under his nose and recorded it.

Alright, I actually don't even really mind the sound of his snoring; I'd even go so far as to say it's quite comforting. But the mother chucking basshole (I've discovered that pregnant women can get away with saying the most vulgar things, while simultaneously sushing and glaring at anyone within a five mile radius who dares to utter anything remotely resembling a curse, because 'the babies can here you'- I take full advantage, particularly because Chuck has yet to figure it out) has been so _smug _lately that I am considering banning him from our bed for the next six weeks until the girls (I stick out my tongue vaguely in his direction) arrive. No, it would be ok – Dorota bought a years supply of batteries from Cosco (in disguise, of course) and I could probably last four weeks before I molested him in his sleep – which is infinitely longer than it would take him to molest me in mine. Trust me, I know. Even if he did somehow manage to avoid fucking his 'little preggers wife', who I suspect he's oddly more attracted to than her non-pregnant counter part, by then all the blood would be permanently drained from his big brain to his little brain anyway – like he'd be able to do anything but fuck me senseless, let alone process his victory.

He whispers something in his sleep that sounds suspiciously like he's telling dream!Blair to get on her knees and suck his dick and, as hard as I try to stop it, wetness begins to pool between my thighs. I groan in frustration because I can't move from my spring coil prison, to either suck _or_ smack him, and secretly hope dream!Blair bites it instead, just to spite dream!Chuck for having used the term she likes to pretend she hates. What? I said _dream!Blair_. I'd never put that particular part of his anatomy out of commission – I enjoy it too much. Plus, he totally deserves it. He's been leaving little sticky notes with facts and quotes from his damn baby book all over the penthouse; I even found one stuck to the underside of the toilette seat. And I may or may not have thrown it into the bowl, conveniently forgettingto flush it down before I peed (for the hundredth time) last night.

He mumbles under his breath sounds I only hear when my mouth is wrapped around his shaft and I know dream!Blair is a dirty little skank who didn't recognize the valuable blue balls opportunity when it presented itself. I make a mental note to Google 'vasectomy' for all it's worth and buy lots, and lots of post it notes.

Jesus, he's calling dream!Blair every name in the book that gets extremely pregnant, very horny, real life Blair slicker than we pavement. I flail a leg in his direction, hopping to either shut him up or wake him up so he can put his money where his mouth is – or better yet his dick (_I'm_ allowed to say it, yes) where I now want it to be, but I only succeed in rocking myself uncomfortably back and forth. I grumbled and decide pregnancy puts the issue of whether God is a man or a woman to rest unequivocally; there is absolutely no way in hell a woman would do _this_ to her fellow females; NO WAY. I haven't been able to see my feet in so long that, were it not for the fact I feel them under me when I waddle – yes, _waddle_ – I would be hard pressed to believe they are still down there somewhere. And I'm nearly positive I could care less if my breasts enlarge to the size of basketballs. He thinks it's funny. I don't – not in the least. I'm actually pretty sure the Basstard not only prefers it, but gets _off_ on it – me, extremely pregnant with his…_spawn._ Every time I catch him licking his lips and ogling my extremely engorged breasts with a massive hard on, or practically patting himself on the back and peering proudly at my protruding belly, I get the distinct feeling he's cornered my King in a game of chess I hadn't even been aware we'd been playing. I swear I can almost hear the evil midgets in his head yelling 'checkmate!' and smirking.

_Yes_, evil midgets. Pregnancy muddles your mind, what do you want from me? I'm carrying twins here, so it's like a thousand times worse. (Yes, I know 'twins' equals TWO babies, and not a THOUSAND… see my previous point.)

Oh, and now he's knocked up dream!Blair too. Poor girl, if only she had of listened to my 'bite it' and 'blue balls' advice I could have saved her months of discomfort. Not to mention being subjected to his nauseatingly annoying propensity toward the terms 'preggo' and 'preggers'. I swear, whoever came up with those should be drawn and quartered. And lit on fire. And possibly shot. Obviously I am not a fan – a fact he knows, but doesn't deter him from calling me his little preggers wife. Constantly. He says it's cute, that _I'm_ cute all swollen and puffy and pissed off. I've filed this information away for use in the near future, when I can properly chase him down and club him…. ok, so 'club' will more than likely turn into 'fuck'…my mental computer is not what it used to be.

I draw in a deep breath and try to coral my thoughts into _some_ semblance of order. And maybe attempt to reign in my galloping hormones so I don't castrate him in his sleep. I guess it really isn't _all_ that bad, knowing that there are these little tiny lives that we created _together_ growing inside me, and that my husband would move heaven and earth to protect them. Tears spring to my eyes just thinking about the look that crosses his handsome features when he rubs my swollen belly and murmurs sweet nothings, thinking I'm asleep. Or how he unknowingly shields me behind his body when we're walking down the crowded sidewalk so I don't get bumped or jostled, or the possessive hand he likes to cup to the curve of my abdomen when he kisses me in public, or private, or anywhere at all, really.

Sometimes I actually think he's a little jealous that he can't experience it all the way I do. Can't feel every kick, or hiccup. I tell him I'd gladly let him experience it all, and that he should be the one to be grateful for a while that there is a Starbucks, and therefore a public washroom, on every corner. He laughs whenever I make the comment, but I see the slight twinkle in his eye that hints at his want to fully experience our (I abhor the term but have conceded to using it at his insistent pouting) pregnancy. I think this fact alone is responsible for my agreeing to allow him full control over the nursery design. He actually nearly giggled when I'd finally acquiesced, but covered it quickly with a smirk that I know meant that the entire thing would be adorned in every possible shade of blue under the sun. He's kept it under lock and key and refused to allow me to see it. But I know where he keeps the key… and haven't so much as heard him rouse even for the slightest of seconds…

I flail my legs desperately until I've worked up enough momentum to ungracefully pull myself into a quasi sitting position. His breathing remains even and deep. I carefully wiggle my butt to the end of the bed and slip on the nightie that landed on the floor after he'd launched it blindly during out latest bought of extremely fun pregnancy sex. This can also be added to the 'plus' columns of pregnancy; knee buckling, earth shattering, mind blowing, orgasms. That's right: orgasm_**s**_.

I slowly shuffle my way around to his night stand and hold my breath as I tug open the top drawer. He's completely dead to the world, most likely due to satisfying the demanding sexual needs of pregnant, real life Blair last night and pregnant, dream!Blair this morning. I rummage around until I find the Altoid tin he used to keep his weed in before I claimed it was bad for the babies and quilted him into re-gifting it to Nate. It's Vanessa's problem now. The key is taped to the tin lid under a copy of our first sonogram. Really, he underestimate me, he does, Mr. Charles Bass.

I shake my head and roll my eyes at his sprawled, peaceful form. The girls start doing summersaults as I stare down at their sleeping father and I absently rub circles with my palm to my womb in an effort to sooth them. He really is beautiful, strong jaw, sensuous lips, and all hard angles…. My eyes drift south… _hard_ angles…

I shake myself from my very distracting thoughts and focus on sneaking a peak at the nursery before I have sex with my husband in his sleep for the second time this week. I waddle out of the room and down the hall quickly, peaking over my shoulder every couple feet just to make sure all is well in the land of horny husbands before I make it safely undetected to the room that will be the nursery. I quickly unlock the door and slip inside.

And I am breathless.

It's beautiful. Absolutely and utterly beautiful. Thought it's only half finished, he's completely captured everything I had always wanted it to be. The walls are a warm, pale coffee colour, not unlike his eyes, the carpet a plush, dark beige. Each side of the room mirrors the other, with a beautiful, antique wooden crib against the wall, an exquisitely painted mural just above it, and a solid oak rocking chair with a hand made baby blanket draped over its back in the far corner. I wander closer to the crib directly to my right to inspect the mural and realize it has been painted from a picture of our second wedding anniversary. My body is turned into his, my left hand on his cheek, his eyes full of unshed tears and gazing lovingly at my right hand on my still flat abdomen. I lean closer, intent on discovering the artist whose work has brought tears to my eyes and am utterly and profoundly shocked.

There, scrawled in thin black strokes are the initials; C.B.

Before I'm even conscious of what they are doing, my feet have carried me back out the door and all the way down the hallway and into our bedroom.

"Chuck," I whisper softly, sweeping an errand strand of dark hair from his brow after I've replaced his secret key. "Babe," I coo. I only use the pet name when he's done something completely and utterly selfless, and he knows when he hears it he's about to get whatever he wants in return.

"Mmm?" He mumbles, eyelids heavy with sleep, not registering my accidental slip in calling him 'babe.' He's not supposed to _know_ you've seen the nursery, remember Blair? I'll be glad when I'm not longer pregnant and can focus enough to deceive him properly. And figure out what else it is he has he has hidden up his sleeves.

"I love you," I smile down at him as I heft a shapely leg over his hips to straddle him. He's up immediately… double entendre intended.

"Again?" he groans. So I may or may not have woken him up in similar ways over the last seven and a half months. I think it's only fair, not to mention fitting, considering his super sperm are the reason I'm with child and thus constantly horny to begin with.

"Not quite," I reply coquettishly.

He arches a brow as I shimmy by bottom down his hips, unable to resist the temptation to rub myself against his erection slightly before tugging the sheets out from between us and throwing them to the floor.

"What is my little minx up to this morning?" He drawls in that low tone of voice of his.

I merely smile seductively as I settle my bottom between his thighs on our mattress and run my nails along the bone of his already naked hip.

His breath catches in his throat, our eyes locked as dip forward to bring my lips to the tip of his impressive erection. His eyes roll back into his head, his back arching off the mattress as the same sounds I'd heard in his sleep minutes ago rumble low in his throat. I slowly take him further into my warm mouth, swirling my tongue slowly around his length.

"Jesus, Blair." He grunts, fisting his hands in the slip cover on the mattress.

My lips curve into a smile around him, and I bring him all the way into my mouth humming softly, innocently the way I know he likes. I tickle my fingers lightly against his balls as I alternate sucking with blowing cool air against his shaft. He jerks his hips, wanting for me to suck him off quickly and I smirk, enjoying the slow pace I've set.

"You like that, huh?" I throw the phrase he loves to drawl in my ear when I'm begging him to fuck me back in his face before I take his length deep in my throat.

"Y-yes," he stutters, head thrown back and eyes screwed shut.

I work him in a steady, teasing motion, kissing my lips to the base of his cock, then wrapping them around his shaft as I pull back slowly, inch by inch. I massage his head with the tip of my tongue and can feel the telltale moisture begin to bead there in small drops. I smirk, knowing he's nearly there, and further slow my ministrations; wrapping my right hand in a fist tightly around his girth and tantalizingly brining it up the length of him to meet my lips.

"Please." he pants, and I'm shocked because I've never heard him beg – for anything, "Baby, please."

I keep my right hand wrapped around him, kneading a slow circular motion as I simultaneously work him deeper and deeper down my throat.

He grunts and gasps; hardening further as my left hand gently kneads his balls. I press a knuckle into the well hidden male g-spot and he's gasping my name and twitching violently as he empties himself into my mouth. I swallow him, sucking on his head slightly to make his toes curl under before I pull back to kiss the tip of him lovingly.

He sighs and stretches his arms above his head. "God, Blair," he groans, "That was fucking unreal."

I laugh and untangle my legs from his because I've just realized in my haste to suck him dry, I've forgotten about my doctor's appointment in half an hour. "We're going to be late," I say throwing open the closet to find the lowest low maintenance maternity dress I own.

He groans from the bed behind me, "Can't move my legs."

I grin triumphantly, chuckling softly under my breath. "Stay and sleep. It's just routine, no sonogram, so you aren't missing anything, promise." I tug the loose fitting dress over my head and turn to reassure him with a smile, but he's already dead to the world once more.

Which couldn't have worked out better if I'd _tried_, because what moron didn't learn in eleventh grade biology that the sex of a baby is determined upon conception? Tuna and vertical sex my foot. I waddle out the door to my ultrasound appointment; intent on finding out the sex of our twins and stock piling my ammunition.

Because Chuck Bass is definitely up to something.

* * *

_A/N Second anniversary reference is to "cotton" when they found out she was preggers at their surprise party. Also, the "time stamps" from last chapter were references to eppy 1x17 and 1x18 :)._

Lynne


	11. Ruby Red

_**A/N This took forever as I'm sure you are all aware. lol. I'm unsure as to how it turned out. Please drop me a line to let me know! Takes place after 'Pillow Talk', probably wouldn't be a bad idea to reread that one. **_

_**Thank you to Nes and Mads. You ladies are goddesses. **_

_***GASP* I forgot to name this! Thank you to K.A who pointed that out! AND I FORGOT THE DEDICATION TOO! Geez, I was in such a hurry to FINALLY post this, I forgot to send my love to suspensegirl, Lauren, for requesting the Chuck's HS ILY!!! *kiss*  
**_

* * *

Serena flicked her long blonde hair over her shoulder as she studied her best friend from across the courtyard.

It was an image Serena had been met with nearly every day since she'd been eight; Blair waiting for her with her lunch alphabetically arranged from left to right (almonds, carrots, celery, grapes, yogurt) on the marble table under the old oak tree. He hair lay in long, dark curls down her back, pulled away from her face with a forest green headband. Her uniform was immaculately pressed as always, her Chloe purse sat by her side, and her little black flats were firmly in place on her feet. Nothing appeared to be out of the ordinary and yet something just seemed…. different to Serena. She couldn't put her finger on it, but she was sure it was there.

"Hello? Earth to Serena!" Blair's insistent calling startled Serena from her intense scrutiny. "Are you going to just stand there or are we having lunch?"

"Oh, sorry. Yea" Serena mumbled, closing the gap between them to set her tray down opposite Blair's. "I was just… thinking about something."

Blair arched an eyebrow, "Don't think too much, you might hurt yourself."

"Still mad at me, I see." Serena removed the clear lid to her Cesar salad, flicking quick, searching glances at her best friend, "You know, you wouldn't be this mad if-"

"I told you we aren't discussing this." Blair cut her off sharply, skewering a leaf of lettuce with her fork.

"Oh, come on B."

Blair glowered across the table at Serena. "The subject is not open for discussion."

Serena sighed. She really didn't think that Blair would be this mad at her. She wasn't naïve enough to think that they would have gotten away with it entirely – she was Blair Waldorf after all, deception and trickery were the air she breathed, but she hadn't foreseen the solid week of silent treatment or the outright refusal to talk about Chuck, what had happened with Chuck, or anything that could possibly lead in any way, shape, or form to any mention what so ever of Chuck.

It left her utterly confused. Was she just not talking about it as punishment or had things really not gone the way her and Dan had both thought they would? Chuck had looked so broken just last week, could they really not have worked it out?

Serena pushed a strand of wayward gold behind her ear, focusing intently on keeping the judgment from saturating her next words. "B," she began again, but the distinct feeling of someone watching her pulled her gaze from her best friend's annoyed glare. Her tongue tied itself in nervous knots as her eyes landed on the very reason for their conversation: Chuck Bass. Blue eyes widened as he pushed himself purposively from the courtyard wall and began an arrogantly slow swagger towards them. "Uh…"

"Sister," Chuck drawled, nodding towards Serena suggestively as he straddled the bench facing her, his back to Blair.

"Chuck…" Serena responded, guarded.

Blair remained stoically silent across the table, focused intently on her yogurt.

"I need your assistance with a certain… matter," he smarmed, his head tilted provocatively in the direction of a gaggle of flimsily clad freshmen.

Serena turned in the direction he was indicating, quickly snapping her head back around to shoot daggers at him. "You're a real asshole sometimes, you know that Chuck?"

Unfazed by the sudden venom behind his step sister's words, Chuck held up his hands palms out, "I can see this is a bad time for family bonding." He rose from the table without looking in Blair's direction, pausing to wink and blow a kiss at Serena over his shoulder before he sauntered off.

Serena glared at his retreating back. He had quite the nerve. Or at least she thought he had quite the nerve. She wasn't exactly sure if Chuck was the torturer or the tortured this particular time around.

But she was willing to bet by the expression on Blair's face it was more likely the former. Her eyes were suspiciously wet, her gaze glued to the grape she was rolling back and forth against the marble tabletop repetitively.

"B?" Serena questioned softly, "Please tell me what's wrong. I thought you had worked everything out… what happened?"

Blair cleared her throat and drew in a steadying breath, raising her eyes to Serena's. "I really don't wish to discuss it," she said harshly. "Please, Serena. Just let it go…" her voice caught almost unnoticeably, "Just let him go."

Serena smiled sadly, more confused now than ever. "Ok. If that's what you want."

"It is," Blair assured her quickly. "Can we please talk about something _else_ now?"

"Alright," Serena agreed, quickly complying with the request, but before she could change the subject Blair's cell phone had beeped loudly and her friend had had quickly scurried off, tossing a quick goodbye over her shoulder as she passed Dan on his way over to their table. Or rather, Serena's table, since Blair had found excuse after excuse to leave her sitting by herself for the better part of their lunch period for the past week.

"Saved by the bell, I guess," Serena mumbled to herself.

Dan quirked a bushy brow questioningly as he took the seat Chuck had vacated only minutes before. "What was that all about?"

"The usual." Serena chewed her bottom lip thoughtfully, "I swear, if I hadn't just seen them with my own eyes…"

"What?" Dan prompted.

"Nothing. What about you? Anything on your end?"

"Officially?" her boyfriend of just over a year shook his head in the negative. "Unofficially, he missed three opportunities to throw thinly veiled and extremely crude sexual innuendos at Missy Meyers, who by the way couldn't have been more blatant with her set ups if she _tried_, and didn't leer disgustingly at everything in a skirt."

Serena furrowed her brow, mentally replaying her conversation with Blair. "Something is definitely up with those two."

Dan shrugged, abandoning their analysis of Blair's love life to bite into his sandwich. "I still don't see why you don't just ask her straight out," he mumbled, mouth full of egg.

Serena shook her head, her blonde locks swishing against her back, "I tried that. She won't even say his name out loud, let alone actually tell me what happened between them."

He shrugged a shoulder dismissively. "Then why don't we just leave her to it?"

Serena sighed. "Because I just can't stand to see either of them this upset."

"You aren't responsible for their happiness, Serena. We did what we could for them already, they either get their act together on their own or it doesn't happen."

"It's never that simple with those two." Serena looked pointedly at Dan. "There has to be some way…"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"So then I thought maybe the Badgley Mischka?" Serena held the champagne coloured gown to her chest as she twirled around to face Blair.

"Sure, whatever you want," Blair replied from her sprawled position on Serena's bed as she flipped aimlessly through a magazine.

"Oh, come on B. The perfume wasn't even my idea; you can't stay mad at me forever."

"Only because I won't live forever."

Serena sighed as she sank onto the mattress, "We were only trying to help. I just want to see you happy again."

"And when exactly did you decide that that meant Chuck Bass?" Blair's eyes widened slightly as she realized she'd said his name aloud, but she recovered quickly, adding, "The Mischka, definitely. And I think the silver Dior you were showing me earlier will suit the evening perfectly after all, don't you think?" Eyes still averted, she crossed the room quickly to the closet, hoping to distract her best friend from her favourite subject as of late; Chuck.

Refusing to be put off, Serena trailed after the petite brunette; "Since you said so yourself?"

"And those black Manolo's you have will be perfect," Blair continued stubbornly, refusing to allow the shift in topic. "And I think you have the perfect clutch, too." She smiled weakly and briefly made eye contact, "I hope this date of mine doesn't mind me impersonating the great Serena van der Woodsen for the evening. Not that any red blooded American male would." She fiddled nervously with her fingers, "What did you say his name was again?"

Serena's brow furrowed. Blair obviously didn't want to talk about Chuck. She'd been dead set against even going to the Snow Flake Ball with Matt when she'd slipped it into their conversation twenty minutes ago, and now she was coordinating an outfit to impress him?

Taking her life into her own hands, she tried one last time, "Tell me what happened, B."

Blair crossed her arms beneath her breasts, stubbornly refusing to meet her searching gaze.

"I thought you guys had cleared all this up. I mean, in my room after the assembly the other day…you seemed…. I dunno, just you seemed…."

'I just seemed what?" Blair snapped, her eyes slamming angrily into Serena's. "Badgered? Harassed? Coerced?"

"Lost without him," Serena countered softly.

Blair started intently at a spot on the wall over Serena's left shoulder.

"Come on, B. You guys seemed so close. Chuck even almost admitted to me that he was in -" Blair's ears perked up at that but Serena was too preoccupied with the memory of Chuck pacing barefoot and broken outside her bedroom door to take notice. "Well, he almost admitted something to me that he should have been to you. I just don't get why he didn't. He looked just as broken without you as you did without him." She shook her head sadly, "I just don't get any of this. What happened? Why aren't you off groping each other in a janitor's closet somewhere?"

Blair rolled her eyes, "Crass - even for _Chuck_."

Serena sighed. "That wasn't my point and you know it. Come on, this is me. You can tell me anything."

Brown eyes slid slowly back to blue, "Anything?"

"Anything," Serena nodded encouragingly. "No judgment," she mentally prepared herself, taking a breath to ensure her voice stayed even and free of judgment. "No matter what happened between the two of you... no matter what you did… _together_, you can tell me I promise."

Blair worried her bottom lip between her teeth. "Ok."

"Ok?"

Blair nodded.

Finally! "Ok."

"I'm not sure how to tell you this…" Blair took several deep breaths, "but we're going to be late for the ball."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

_Is everything set?_

Serena glanced around the room hurriedly before she quickly typed a response to Dan's text.

**Yes. Place cards switched and DJ bribed. Your end?**

"We're all set," Dan's deep voice sounded in Serena's ear, startling her. "Sorry," he apologized, pressing a quick kiss to her jaw. "Have you seen her yet?"

Serena shook her head. "Matt was supposed to pick her up at eight, it's only quarter to now. What about Chuck?"

"It took some doing, but I managed to sweet talk Nate and Vanessa into doubling with Chuck and Missy. They should be arriving shortly after eight." Dan stole another quick kiss from his girlfriend, "You look incredible, by the way."

Serena smiled, turning to face her boyfriend and spotted Blair and Matt walking arm and arm into the ballroom.

Showtime.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Chuck grumbled to himself under his breath. This entire night was turning out to be a bust. He didn't want to be here with Missy 'my bra size is higher than my IQ' Meyers with nobody to buffer the redhead's utter stupidity. Serena better finish frisking Humphrey and get the hell back to their table before Blair and her man doll…

Where the hell were those two, anyway? Swear to God if that jackass was somewhere molesting his Blair, he was going to strangle him with the scarf that she'd bought him to replace the one she'd burnt before this entire fucking mess had even started. Why, YES, Nathaniel, I _do_ kill people now. More specifically, _Matt_ if he lays one fucking finger to a single hair on her head.

Chuck's jaw clenched. If she was trying to make him jealous, it was working; he was pretty sure he'd peaked on the jealousy scale the second he'd walked into the ballroom to find 'Blair Waldorf and Matthew Moretti' scrawled daintily in ink on the tiny place card. Smarmy son of a bitch. What the hell did she see in him anyway? It didn't matter, because she wasn't going to win.

Chuck squared his shoulders and trailed a finger seductively up Missy's arm as he spotted Blair walking back into the room - he hid a smirk- _without_ Moron Matt.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Blair stomped her way angrily from her ladies room powwow back to their table. Things were not working out as she had planned at all. Matt was an utter Moron and wasn't helping her cause in the slightest and Missy, although dumb as bricks, was admittedly a knock out. The evening was turning out to be a complete bust; maybe she should just pack it in and call it a night. Serena's shoes were starting to pinch anyway.

Blair's feet faltered slightly as she caught sight of Chuck openly molesting his 'date'. Then again, a little pain never hurt anyone. And Matt did have a certain 'Marcus-esque' quality about him…he could be just the thing she needed to put an end to this charade once and for all.

Chuck trailed an index finger across the top of Missy's more than ample cleavage. Oh, yes. A little _pain_ never hurt anyone.

She stalked forward angrily and grabbed Chuck's hand. "Dance with me. Now"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"What are you doing?" Dan questioned, coming up behind his girlfriend.

Serena jumped, "Stop sneaking up on me would you!"

"I didn't exactly sneak," Dan replied, waving his cell phone in her face, "you texted me to meet you in the kitchen."

"It had the best view," She explained, inclining her head towards the glass window she'd had her nose pressed up against before Dan had startled her.

They both turned to peer through the circular window at Serena's best friend and step brother.

Dan blinked, confused, "What is Blair doing?"

"Asking Chuck to dance!" Serena squealed happily.

"Is that…" Dan pushed the revolving door open another inch, "it is. How did you know about the song?"

Serena furrowed her brow. "I…uh… read her diary. How did _you_ know about the song?"

"Uhh…I didn't know Waldorf even kept a diary," he stuttered, changing the subject.

Serena studied his profile. "Uh huh, you're telling me later." She bumped his hip with hers flirtatiously, "Now watch our handiwork fall beautifully into place."

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Blair's eyes widened in shock as she realized exactly what song was playing and that she and Chuck were dancing to.

He smirked and pulled her to him a fraction of an inch closer that was necessary.

She covered the momentary slip in her amour with a sneer. "Smart cookie you got there, Bass," she quipped, inclining her head towards Missy who'd just attempted to tip the wait staff.

"I don't know about smart," he drawled, unable to tear his eyes from Blair's lips, "but she sure is tasty." Jesus she smelt good, even better than she had a week ago. And she as beautiful as ever, though he did prefer to remember her wriggling on his bare mattress beneath him than adorned in the shinny silver frock. He was quickly losing room in his pants just thinking about it. "How long are we going to do this for, Waldorf?" he asked suddenly.

Blair cocked an eyebrow at her dance partner as she felt his hand dip lower on her back. "Hands, Bass," she warned.

He kept his palm firmly pressed just above her backside. "I don't know how much longer I can keep this up."

Blair smirked, "Your inability to perform sexually is no longer any of my concern."

Chuck stepped closer to her, crowding her personal space and pulling her to him so that her flat stomach came into contact with a very distinct bulge. "Isn't it?" he drawled.

Blair's pulse immediately began to race. "That was not the agreement, Chuck." She grazed soft fingers across the sensitive spot at the nape of his neck she knew sent shivers of pleasure down his spine and curled his toes under.

He gulped, pausing noticeably before his voice was steady enough to reply, "It should have been." He leaned in slowly to whisper in her ear, "I like it much better when the outcome of these little games is either me buried inside you to the hilt or you wrapped tightly around me screaming my name." He left himself twitch against her midsection to illustrate just how much better he liked it. "Tell me again why this time was any different?"

Blair batted her eyes innocently, breathing deeply so the corseted waist of her gown would further flaunt her pert breasts. "Tell yourself – it was your idea, though I seem to recall something about real men having restraint?"

Chuck slid his hand lower still down her back until his fingers could knead to top of her ass. "And what would a real woman have to say about the janitor's closet three days ago?"

Blair licked her lips slowly, recalling the feeling of his tongue on her sex.

"Or is 'Oh God, Chuck. Fuck me. Please, I want it now. Please' what they're teaching you in Home Ec these days?" he drawled, smirk creeping into his voice.

"Wouldn't you like to know?" Blair asked coyly, catching her bottom lip between her teeth and fingering the pendant at her neck that fell between her breasts.

Chuck's breath caught in his throat at the sight of her: supple lips, milky breast, eyes hooded in the same look she normally gave him just before she took him home. Suddenly he didn't care about whether they attended Yale or Princeton; if he didn't get inside her – _now_ – he wouldn't live long enough for either to matter.

So he did the only thing what little amount of blood still remaining in his big brain allowed him to do.

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

"Are they doing what I think they're doing?" Dan asked.

Serena blinked quickly just to make sure her eyes weren't playing tricks on her, but the scene before them remained the same. Chuck had swept Blair off her feet – literally, and they pair of them were headed for the door. Though how either of them could tell exactly which direction the door was with their faces mashed together like that was beyond Serena.

"Looks like," She answered, feeling slightly like a voyeur watching her best friend and step brother going at it like that.

It was like watching a train wreck; Dan couldn't tear his eyes away. "Jesus, she's got no shame! Look where her hand – Her hand!" he cried.

"Yes," Serena turned her back on the scene before them that was quickly turning pornographic, "I know. She's practically grabbing his-"

"No!" Dan shook his head emphatically, cutting her off before she could say it, "The ring, she's not wearing her ring."

Serena started at him, confused.

"The little ruby ring Nate gave her? She's not wearing it." He motioned at Blair and Chuck as they disappeared through the ballroom double doors, "Waldorf _never _takes it off."

"I'm sure it's nothing," Serena replied all too quickly. "Come on, let's get out of here. There's a little something I want to take off myself."

"Oh? Is there now?"

~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~*~

Blair lifted Chuck's hairy arm from her waist and slid from her bed. Her cell phone was beeping loudly and if she didn't get to it soon it was going to wake up Chuck before she had a chance to slip her little gold band back onto her finger.

She wondered who could be texting her. The entire ballroom had seen her and Chuck's hasty exit and should know that both of them would be otherwise involved for the next four hours at least.

**Did it work? Dan nearly blew it.**

Blair rolled her eyes.

_**For someone I'm supposed to believe is smart…**_

**Hey. B nice. **

Blair shrugged. It was true. She'd been hiding her hand behind her back whenever Chuck was around since the start of their latest game three days ago and Humphrey had only noticed when she no longer needed him to. It would do her no good _now_ to have him blurting out in front of Chuck that she hadn't been wearing her ruby ring. There was only one reason Blair Waldorf would ever take off her signature ring, the one she'd worn for ten years; the one Nate had given her: Charles Bartholomew Bass. And unlike Dan, Chuck wasn't stupid and would catch on right away.

Although really, who wouldn't?

**So you won, right? **

_**Yes.**_

She'd had to stoop so low as to outright involve Serena in her master plan last minute, breaking the rules, but she'd won.

But what Chuck didn't know wouldn't hurt him, right? Or more aptly, couldn't hurt _her. _

**I get that the first one to get the other to publically admit you were together won, but why were you hiding it in the first place?**

Blair stared at her cell phone. She even went so far as to type '_**Because he still hadn't said those three words**_' but it sounded petty and trite and she didn't want to give up the ground she'd gained today by making herself look pathetically weak. She'd been pathetic and weak her entire relationship with Nate, subsiding off of mumbled 'you too's' and hasty head nods and she wasn't going to do it again. This time she'd wanted to hear the words before they went public because this time it mattered, this time she'd lost her heart instead of her head.

And even though he hadn't said them tonight, Blair still felt lighter than a feather; she'd pulled one over on him and had won Yale. Which bought her four more years to slowly and deliciously torture the words she knew he felt out of him.

So instead she turned her cell phone off and scanned her room for her silver dress.

Where had he thrown it?

"On the dresser."

Blair jumped as his deep voice sliced through the quiet room.

"Oh, yes. There it is." She snatched the silver thing off her dresser, hiding it behind her back as she searched its pockets blindly for her ring. Finding it, she quickly tried to shove it back into place on her middle finger, but for some reason it wouldn't fit.

"Try your ring finger."

He knew about the ring? But how had he figured it out? And why would it fit her ring finger when it had always adorned her middle digit?

"Your other ring finger," Chuck demanded, sheets pooled at his waist, before she could slip the band onto the ring finger of her right hand.

Her _left_ hand? Had Chuck gone mad? He wanted Blair to wear Nate's ring on her ring finger, _the_ ring finger?

She regarded him questioningly, pulling her hands from behind her back to do as he suggested and gasped at what she saw.

It wasn't a red ruby that started up at her, but a beautiful dark blue sapphire.

"W-what…" she stuttered, confused, staring at the delicate white gold ring in her palm. Wide eyes met mischievous brown eyes, "How…"

"You think I missed something as monumental as Blair Waldorf taking off her signature accessory?" He shook his head. "I don't think so."

Blair gaped at him.

He motioned for her to put it on.

She moved to slip it into place, but he was before her with it in his hands before she could even process it.

"There's an inscription," he told her a little nervously, tilting the ring until she could read the delicate scrawl in the soft glow of the candles they hadn't gotten around to blowing out.

Blair's breath caught in her throat and tears sprang unbidden to her eyes as she raised them questioningly to his.

"Chuck Bass loves Blair Waldorf," he read the words a loud, slipping the ring that looked suspiciously like a promise ring to Blair into place, eyes locked on hers, "Promise."

Chuck smirked to himself as Blair threw her arms around his neck and attack his lips with hers. He'd realized the moment he caught Serena out of the corner of his eye signaling to the DJ from the kitchen as Blair dragged him to the dance floor that the missing ruby ring was indeed not a fluke. And even if she'd only taken it off as a strategy to win their latest bet, the fact that she knew everyone would know what its absence meant and that she _wanted _them to notice…

Not that it had taken Blair taking off the ring (read: letting Nate go publically) for him to finally be able to say those three words, not at all. After everything they'd fought and fucked their way through she deserved the most memorable 'I love you' since Rose pried Jack's frozen fingers from hers and sank him to the bottom of the ocean… or whatever, he'd only watched the cheesy chick flick once (that he'd been forced to, twice secretly on his own – for some inane reason Rose reminded him of a certain brunette he knew.) And if the three days it took his private jeweler to get the ring exactly the way Chuck wanted it happened to fall on the day a certain 'Charlie Trout' won the 'are they/aren't they' pool the senior class had going, then it was an added bonus.

An added bonus that he was going to use to foot the bill for the three hundred and eighty class rings he planned on inscribing with a little phrase that immortalized the evening perfectly.

'Blair Waldorf loves Chuck Bass'

Because he couldn't let her get off scot free with cheating, now could he?

Although he did plan on getting her off a few more times this evening…

Chuck backed Blair across the room until her mattress hit the backs of her knees.

… a few more times, indeed.

* * *

A/N - So not as smutty, I know. But it didn't fit the 'plot' to have the hanky be too panky. 12 is 1/2 written and promises to up the raunch factor. Thanks for hanging in there everyone!

Hope your holidays were all stress free and enjoyable:)

Lynne


	12. Rubber Chuckie

**_A/N I own nothing. Follows "Secret Key" and it's suggested you reread that one to fully get the gist of this one. Thank you to everyone who has been reviewing, as always please take a gander and let me know what you think! Dedicated to all my ladies over :ff:. OH! And my one shot "Nothing Without You" could be considered as the first 'piece' in this series, but the tone was just different enough that I didn't want to include it under the Maho heading. Take a look if you feel so inclined, I'm slightly partial to it. _**

* * *

So, maternity leave. I had always been lead to believe by those who had gone the way of squeezing watermelons out of their you-know-what's that it was like a little blissful vacation that started right before the incessant screaming and peeing and pooping. Serena had even so much as told me straight out that humpty dumbphrey insisted on taking care of her every need for her.

_Her__** Every**__ need._

Well, let me tell you, that's a load of crap. My husband, with his annoying smirk and his arrogant amber eyes…and his chiseled jaw…and talented tongue… and strong, competent…

I shake myself from my thoughts before he catches me reaching for my new best friend, a.k.a. Mr. Rubber Chuckie (if Serena only knew her gag wedding shower gift was getting more action than she had the first three months of her pregnancy…), for the second time today and focus on texting my husband in the next room for the hundredth time today.

_-I need you.-_

**NO means NO, B. **

_-I'm wet and ready and want it. NOW- _

No response.

_-Please?-_

**I'm sorry, baby. **

But he's not sorry. He's yet to acquiesce to a _single_ one of my _**needy **__requests._Not a one. The Basstard just smirks at me in that infuriating way of his and tells me that bed _rest_ doesn't secretly mean bed _wrestling_. One time the soon-to-be vasectomied (no, that's not a word, and yes, I made it up – would you like to take it up with my murderous hormones? They would be more than happy to add you to the waiting list for the procedure) jerk even went so far as to tell me that it was just too bad he'd done such a good job of knocking me up – _yes, __**knocking me up**_ – or else he could have fucked me senseless in the shower just now, instead of just fucking _**himself**_. That may or may not have been the first time he walked in on me, head flung back on his pillow, eyes screwed shut with Serena's 'present' killing me softly with its hum.

Alright, so that wasn't the best or wittiest allusion of my lengthy career, but as I've mentioned plenty of times before pregnancy KILLS your brain cells. Ironic, since one would think you would have to be brain dead to _agree_ to being 'with child' (ha, don't try and pretty the term up people, it is what it is and what it is is a parasite – siphoning my nutrients, my energy and _**murdering**_ my sex life) not _after_ the thing is inside you and you have no choice. I suspect a male 'mastermind' is behind the slip and that this is the reason why sex feels so _damn __**good**_ while pregnant – you are too fucking horny all the goddamn time to notice (let alone care about) your declining mental acuity. Well, unlucky for Mr. NonRubber Chuckie he's unknowingly backed himself into a corner with his refusal to back_** me**_ into the corner – particularly because he's decided to 'lay down the law' (hrpmh!...ok, fine, sexy as _**hell.**_) He says he wants his boys to be as big and strong and healthy as possible and that he doesn't want to take the chance or hurting them now that I'm **_really_** pregnant. (What the hell was I before? Sometimes he just doesn't think. Or thinks that if he gets me mad enough I'll forget he hasn't so much as thought about fucking 'his little preggers wife' in two weeks. Boy does he have another thing coming - and hopefully, so do I.)

I probably didn't help my situation by mumbling not-so-under my breath that his _'boys'_ didn't really _need _any help in that department, had they? Or else I'd be half as pregnant and much, much, _**MUCH**_ less horny, wouldn't I?

I tug the leather bound notebook I found when I was cleansing myself of my pent up sexual energy by supervising Dorota as she cleaned out - against Mr. Chuck's wishes, of course - his 'personal keepsake' box in the attic last week (unsatisfied, cranky, bored, and very, very pregnant bed rest Blair has much more time on her hands than 'satisfied into oblivion' pregnant Blair) and flip to the first page that sports my neat printing. (Well, the second one, since the first one sports my first diary entry.) It reads Charles Bartholomew Bass' List of Transgressions. I smirk and add 'refuses to pleasure his wife' and 'forcibly keeps wife from pleasuring herself' to the growing list.

He thinks it's my diary and that I am recording my pregnancy for posterity sake. He obviously doesn't recognize the notebook for what it truly is; which is _his_ diary. Yes, Charles Bartholomew Bass, my husband apparently kept a diary. A very _intimate_ sort of diary. That only features 'his Blair'.

I sigh at the thought of his 'secret' nickname for me and can't help myself but to peak back at my favourite entry, the one written just after the second anniversary surprise party that his parents threw for us.

_June 16__th__ 2017_

_B's pregnant. Pregnant. With my baby. _(I groan slightly, because the man insists on saying it like that too, _**his**_ baby – like I had nothing and HAVE nothing to do with it. Ok, so it melts my heart a little every time he says it. So what?) _Finally – she almost caught me replacing her pill yesterday._ (Yes, the first time I read this I nearly went nuclear until I remembered I'd been flushing my 'pill' down the toilette anyway. And that I'd found out what we were having in the first place to counteract a tactical move exactly like this one.) _Lil and Bart suspect, I think. Lil kept watching B like a hawk to see if she was sipping the champagne she'd given B and that B had been holding untouched for the better part of the night._ (This is actually a funny story, and at one point I was forced to either take a miniscule sip of Champagne or admit to my mother-in-law that I was indeed tin roof rusted. So I'd taken a miniscule sip and, before I could even think about swallowing it -or secretly spitting it back into my glass as I most likely would have ended up doing, Chuck was in front of me, kissing me until my knees buckled and drawing the bubbly liquid into his mouth. Which actually would have worked just fine had the man not done it with his palm plastered to my – I sigh heavily – still flat belly and his eyes shinning proudly with unshed tears.) _And my father kept giving me his slightly raised eyebrow look until 'the Champagne sip kiss' when he'd actually broken out into a full smile. _(See? God is definitely a man. Giving males enough blood supply for only one brain to work at a time.) _Bart Bass smiled. Smiled. And actually even dragged me out the back of the restaurant to slap me on the back and hand me a cigar when B had disappeared off to the bathroom again. _(Up until this point I'd been a puddle of goo on the floor the first time I read this, our - I roll my eyes - pregnancy had really served to deice Big Bad Bart, and Chuck sounded so _happy_, but the 'bathroom disappearances' he refers to weren't _sitting _ones so much as _spewing _ones - courtesy of the big mother Chucker's little mother Chuckers - so yea, it didn't last long.) _My Blair. My baby. My family. __**Our**__ family. _

Again, puddle of goo at his uncharacteristic sappiness. I thought _**I**_ was the one with the ragging hormones? Alright, so I'm usually crying so hard that I normally don't make it past 'our family' without needing an entire box of tissue, so what? But this time I'm more than a little distracted by the fact that my thighs can't touch without the familiar warmth pooling between them so I make it a few lines farther and nearly moan in pleasure at what I see…

_Note to self:_ (so ironic, yes, but again, I'm too horny to think of anything but how the way he's written his 't' sort of looks like a penis to me) _walking in on B masturbating in the shower the other day… fucking hot. BEYOND fucking hot. I came just watching her. _(See, notebook **_does _**= Chuck's undoing - in more ways that one, too. I had forgotten about that particular incident, or else I would have used it by now this time around.)

I shove the diary back under our mattress and yank my cell phone off my night stand to hurriedly text my husband.

_-I need your help-_

There's a long pause and I know he's confused by my wording because my demanding bootie call texts are normally, well, more demanding.

Finally, I hear the distinct scrapping of a chair against the hardwood flooring in his office and then the pounding of his feet as he rushes to our bedroom.

He bursts through the door and rushes to my side. "Blair? What's wrong? Are you alright? Is it time?"

But I don't answer because I've placed myself in the position I had forgotten was his favourite and am currently tracing slow circles around my swollen clit.

I hear him growl low in his throat and then am suddenly being tugged by my ankles until my ass nearly hangs off the edge of our bed and feel him push his glorious length inside me.

I can tell by his quick pants that he's just as affected his self induced drought as I am. He's thrown my ankles over his shoulders and is softly thumbing an erect nipple that he knows has been too sensitive as of late to nibble on the way he normally loves to do. But the tender motion combined with his frantic thrusts is doing things between my legs that, even extremely pregnant and horny beyond belief I've never experienced and I don't miss the scrape of his teeth as much as I thought I would.

He bends to kiss me hard on the lips and I know he's seconds from emptying himself inside me.

Ripples of painful pleasure throb wonderfully deep within my recently neglected sex and he hardens further just as my walls begin to clench around him.

He cries out my name, the palm that had previously been thumbing my nipple now pressed against my rounded belly and the unconsciously possessive action sends me crashing over the edge too.

He leans down to tenderly press a soft kiss below his palm on my extremely swollen stomach then to my lips before collapsing onto our mattress beside me.

"I guess you were right," he sputters sleepily "we didn't hurt the boys."

"No we didn't hurt Bass or _**Waldorf**_," I reply, pushing myself into an awkward sitting position as the first of the anticipated twinges pinches my lower back. "I told you you were just being silly, Chuck. Dr. George said it was perfectly safe to have sex this late in the third trimester."

I smirk because Dr. George also said – and this is something that I have neglected to tell my cutely worried husband – that sex this late in the third trimester is not only perfectly safe, but that he _recommended _it – especially when the little ones are as big and healthy as ours are – as more often than not it tends to induce labour.

Because like I would ever let him to choose the twin's middle names by delivering on our**_ actual_** due date like he bet me I would. Not when the _very_ soon-to-be father of _**my**_ (my smirk turns into a grimace as another contraction hits) children had been secretly feeding me tuna for years.

See? Notebook = Chuck's undoing.

* * *

A/N So I felt badly for promising a quicker update and then quasi bailing on y'all. I hope this isn't too rushed, it came to me in the middle of the night and I hid in the bathroom of our hotel room so my typing wouldn't wake up Dunc. LOL. Which means it isn't the Chapter/One shot I originally had planned for 12, sorry Nes. I *DO* have the college and post high school/pre wedding ones planned/half written. I sent this to Laura, who is probably more computer iliterate that I, so thanks to whoever helped her upload! You're a doll!

Thanks again to everyone reviewing and well wishing xoxo I WILL get back to you eventually! I promise!

Lynne

PS. HUGE THANK YOU TO SUSPENSEGIRL (LAUREN) for requesting a high school Chuck I LOVE YOU. I hope you enjoyed it my dear. You rock.


	13. Naked Rules of Engagement

**A/N I own nothing. After Ambush, before Mirrors. Dedicated to Nes! THANK YOU MIA!!! And LadyMacB... Paris explained. :P. **

* * *

"I can't marry you!" I cry and he groans like I've just told him he's being audited by the IRS or that the television in our penthouse only gets one channel and it's all Richard Simmons all the time.

He's whisked me away for a week in Europe to celebrate our engagement, which is oddly romantic and sentimental of him. And highly suspicious – particularly since it came on the heels of a drunken celebration with his beloved Nathaniel.

Now, normally I would merely suspect the two of having made some sort of lewd (gloriously wonderful) wager involving something disgustingly heinous (excruciatingly pleasurable) such as how long it would take to get me on my back in each new city (he's Chuck Bass, do I _really_ need to tell you?), but drunk Nate is entirely too cagey for his own good.

Or in this case, mine. Case and point, Charles Bartholomew Bass actually held a door open for me without me feeling his eyes on my ass as I walked through it. And he held my hand in Rome as we walked through the Vatican without spelling out what he wanted to do to me against my palm with his thumb.

They are definitely up to something, the two of them.

And I will not be thwarted.

"Why me? Why _me?" _He thumps his head overdramatically against the breakfast table with every word he groans and I smirk. The wedding plans I've scattered all over the large, oak antique with the sole purpose of annoying him crinkle and crumple under his forehead and I make a mental note to their now 'ruined' status to my arsenal for later.

"What could it possibly be _now?_"

I try not to giggle at the look of sheer frustration marring his handsome features. "I'd be Blair Bass!" I screech, infusing my voice with (quasi) mock horror.

He stares at me blankly.

"My initials would be BB!"

"Yessss?" He draws the word out like my answer is the most ridiculously obvious thing he's ever heard.

"BB! You might as well just start referring to me as Baby, or Candy, or some other equally airhead-like name!"

He raises one busy eyebrow that he refuses to allow me to shape and I know the flimsy nature of my latest 'objection' isn't lost on him.

I started out strong, I swear. It's just he's so damn sexy when he's frustrated, with his hair all disheveled like that. Plus the Basstard has yet to shave this morning and I can't help but think about how his rough stubble would feel tickling the inside of my thighs instead of giving his annihilation the focus it deserves.

His eyes narrow suspiciously. Probably because I've been starring longingly at the permanent semi hard condition he's been sporting since Prague when I put two and two together to get five – or in this case, three.

Ok, so Serena texted me that Nate had shown up drunk as a skunk at two a.m. whining about missing Vanessa and boasting about helping Chuck 'give Blair exactly what she deserves.' Which, considering his utter failure at knowing what it was that I deserved – not to mentioned wanted – while we were dating, will most likely _not_ include my betrothed on his knees with his tongue doing wicked things to me anytime soon. (Note to Nate: I not only should have asked for my pin back when you fumbled through what I guess you considered was an apology in the foyer of my mother's penthouse all those years ago, but should have made you choke on the damn thing. Then I would be bent over the breakfast table being fucked – yes, fucked; I'm feeling slightly dirty today, being Chuckless for a day and a half does that to a girl – instead of soaking a wet spot the size of Texas through my new pink robe.)

OK, so Chuck's tongue against Blair's sex isn't so much what she deserves as wants – and desperately. So sue her. She's horny as _hell. _

"If that's what you want, _baby_," he drawls in that tone of voice that could get me from 0 – 60 on a _bad_ day, and my attention snaps back up to his lips.

He licks his bottom lip slowly and a tiny moan escapes me.

He smirks and before I know it he's flung me over his shoulder and is carrying me through the kitchen toward our living room.

"What are you doing?!" I shriek and pound my tiny fists against his well muscled back.

He laughs and the deep vibrations of it radiate from the hip pressed against his throat to the inferno of heat between my thighs.

"Exactly what you deserve," he tells me and I realize exactly where he's headed.

He sets me on my feet and backs me up until I can feel the cool glass of the floor to ceiling windows through my thin silk robe.

"You want to control every last little detail of the wedding by throwing those little hissy fits of yours that get me so hard I can't think straight let alone object? Fine."

His breathing is ragged and his eyes hooded with need as he presses the evidence of just what my latest 'hissy fit' has done to him against my flat stomach.

"You want to play hot and cold-" his voice flatters slightly as he hikes the slinky material above my hips and is met with a very noticeable lack of underwear on my part.

He swallows quickly in a vain attempt to strangle the growl I know is clamoring to escape his strong throat and I smirk, but before I can regain control by crossing my arms under my breasts and _accidentally _flash him a nipple or two - like I know the gesture does without fail – he's scrapping his finger nails against the sensitive skin of my inner thighs and whispering in my ear; "teasing me until I think my head will explode if I don't get inside you right then and there, fine."

He slips a thick finger inside me and I gasp from the sheer pleasure of our first contact in over 36 hours.

He smirks and pulls his finger from me harshly.

I buck my hips in protest.

"Get me hard," he pins me to the window under his weight and rubs his impressive erection against my slick folds. "Leave me horny as hell and wanting you –" he cuts himself off to trail his knuckles along my jaw and his eyes turn to caramel, "And I do want you B." He presses his lips to mine in a tender kiss and whispers softly; "Want to marry you."

My insides begin to melt at the softness of his tone, but before they can completely puddle on the ground between our feet he's freed himself of his boxers and has kneed my legs apart to position himself at my entrance.

"Want to make you _**mine**_," he grunts possessively as he finally thrusts himself inside me. "But if you think for one second," he tells me through clenched teeth as he tries to restrain himself from beginning the slow movement my desperate whimpering is begging him to start, "that I'll budge and let you axe _him_ from the wedding party, you've got another thing coming."

I clench my walls around him, wriggling my hips and he growls low in his throat, but remains unmoving inside me. I wrap my legs around his hips, lifting my arms above my head and arch my back so that the thin material of my robe strains against my erect nipples. He shoves the pink silk aside roughly and covers my breast with his mouth, tracing teasing circles with his tongue around my nipple, but refuses to so much as twitch where I want to feel him move most.

"Please, baby?" I whisper huskily because I know he secretly likes to hear the pet name fall from my lips just as much as I do his – though it used to make my physically ill when _he_ would say it.

He ignores my use of the word 'please', which only ever means that I'm in the mood for a little rough and tumble fun (a good old fashioned fuck, if you will), and stops his taunting ministrations to hold my challenging gaze.

"Say the words, Blair."

I catch my bottom lip between my teeth and buck my hips.

He shakes his head.

I draw one hand down the length of my arm over my head and across my collar bone to slowly knead my left breast. This time he does twitch inside me and I hear his breath catch in his throat momentarily before he again shakes his head no.

"Alright _**fine**_," I sigh "Now, would you please just _fuck_ me already!?"

The growl he's been holding back all morning finally rips from his throat as he draws his erection from my warmth to forcefully pound back inside me.

My hands fly to grip his shoulders and I cry out as I dig my nails into his bare skin painfully.

He hisses in a breath and fists his hand in my hair, yanking my head down to his to devour my mouth.

My eyes roll back in my head, completely forgetting that it's the middle of the day and anyone in any number of the other high rise building wishing to see our little show merely need to look out their window to get front row seats.

"What _**now!?**_" I scream in frustration, repeating his earlier words as he pulls out once again. My eyes fly open, practically willing to agree to get married in the middle of Times Square if the man will just _fuck _me and _**fuck me now,**_ and I realize belatedly that we've already moved past the arguing and teasing portions of this morning's festivities.

"_**Mine**_," he grunts, one hand moving to grab my ass, the other wrapped around his girth, positioning himself just outside where I would seriously consider shopping at Wal-Mart for the rest of my life to have him be. "Say it."

"Yours," I pant, "I'm yours."

He pushes the tip of his dick into my throbbing sex. "_And?_"

I roll my eyes. "_Nate_ can be your best man."

And then he does _fuck_ me; grunting dirty words in my ear against the window, from behind as he bends me over in the shower, while spanking me on the kitchen table and even once –thrice – in the rain on the roof of our building.

Because the second the blood finally reaches his big brain again and he realizes I broke the cardinal rule of uttering _**his**_ name while naked; that he won't be the _only_ one standing at the alter who's seen me naked if _**he **_is his best man… he'll change his mind pretty damn quickly.

Nate's uncanny intoxicated intelligence combined with everything Chuck Bass – 0

Blair soon-to-be Waldorf – Bass – 1.

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A/N Check out the pole on my profile to vote for sex of babies. Also, I am now considering "Nothing Without You" to be a part of Maho. This was posted quickly, I'm on my way out, but I wanted to THANK EVERYONE from the BOTTOM of my HEART for you support and love this past week :). Let me know if this makes sense!

Lynne


	14. Something Borrowed, Something Blue

**Disclaimer: I own nothing. Except a belief in constructive criticism. **

_**A/N - Two updates (don't get excited, I'm talking about my other fic TTE) in one day! Takes place between NROE and Mirrors. I think. I confuse myself, too. Sorry for the delay. Please read'er and lemme know what y'all thought.  


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I open the heavy oak door just wide enough so that I can squeeze through it and shut it soundlessly behind my back. Which, if you've ever attempted to do while trying to be quiet know is a feat within itself. Add to the scenario the creakiest damn door in the fucking – I probably shouldn't be swearing in 'the Lord's house' as my bride to be calls it, but if Chuck Bass is going to hell it will _definitely_ be for what he's thinking about doing to his fiancé right now and not because of his foul language. (Or his fashion forward attire, thank you very much GQ Magazine. Bastards.)

My eyes adjust to the soft lighting of the modest sized room and my lungs refuse to work at the sight of her. She's standing with her back to me, the gown she'll wear as she walks down the aisle in under half an hour unzipped and offering me the most tantalizing view of her back I have ever seen. And I've seen her naked back 85.97% of our six years together.

Yes, that's right – I calculated it. Mainly because she was adamant that the figure could not possibly be over 50%, but also because it not only won me the most amazing night of sex I have ever had in my entire twenty-four years on this planet (thirteen of which I spent with my wick…well…you get point), but because it also afforded me the right to pick our honeymoon destination. She's going to melt into a puddle of goo when she realizes just exactly where it is that I am taking her. Chuck Bass can be romantic when he wants to be.

But only for Blair Waldorf.

I smirk because in – I check the pocket watch Bart's given me in a rare gesture of pride – less than twenty seven minutes she'll be Blair Bass. My wife.

Now, you would think that that term would terrify the piss – that just may be my last swear of the day, because if I pi… anger the Big Guy upstairs enough that he decides to muck with B's perfect wedding day before I get the chance to fulfill half of what I'm fantasizing about doing to her right this f.. effing…(that doesn't count) minute, I will reject Catholicism altogether and turn Buddhist.

Not that I'm Catholic to begin with. Actually, come to think of it, I never really understood why she wanted to tie the knot in a Catholic Church. And for the life of me I can't remember agreeing to it. Although, I do remember this little red number she brought home that she refused to let me see her in until I'd been blue in the face – among other areas – from arguing and she'd worked herself into that sexy little snit of hers…

Well played, Blair. Well played.

I make a mental note to repay her for _that_ one at some point during over the next fifty years and clear my throat as quietly as I can in an attempt to convince my lungs to finally work. She hears me, of course, because she's Blair Waldorf soon-to-be Bass.

"You shouldn't be in here," she tells me sternly as she quickly pulls a shrug around her shoulders in an attempt to cover her gown from my prying eyes. She's not as angry as she's trying to appear at my intrusion, a fact I would have known regardless had I not noticed the lack of the telltale glint of fire in her eyes. The room is empty. Her mother, Serena, Lily and Vanessa – yes, Vanessa… it's a long story – are no where to be found.

"Seems you're missing a few that should," I return, slipping my hands into my pockets and rocking back slightly on my heels. The gesture tugs the front of my pants snugly against my straining erection and her tongue darts out to trace her full lips unconsciously before she realizes what its doing and clamps her lips firmly shut.

"Yes, well…" she shrugs her shoulders as she fumbles for something that she thinks will put me firmly in my place and the shawl slips down one creamy, bare shoulder. Her brown curls, laying loose around her face in that style she knows I love, free themselves from the shawl's hold and tickle her now bare shoulder.

If she thinks I'm leaving now after _that_, she's sorely mistaken. She's a vision.

"Baby," I drawl and her fingers fumble the shawl as she tries to right it around herself. I file away this newfound information – she claims to abhor the term – to be further investigated when I'm not about ready to bust the zipper on my tuxedo pants from wanting her, and rock back on my heels once more. Her eyes flit to my crotch and I see her realize just how turned on I am. Which normally she can detect with her eyes closed. From three miles away. My pulse starts to hammer in my ears as I realize just exactly what her distracted state of mind means.

Under the heavy material of her wedding dress she's hot and wet and ready for me.

I feel myself grow almost painfully hard as I use up every last bit of spare room in my pants, but I don't pull my hands from my pockets or move to take a step toward her.

She's made her bed and now she has to lie in it.

Or not lie in it, as the case may be.

"Chuck…" she whispers. But not in the tone of voice she usually uses when she wants me to f…eff her. No, she's moved past flirting, skipped right over teasing, and has jumped straight into cheating. She knows, despite all my protests to the contrary, that I can not for the life of me resist it when she looks at me all wide-eyed and innocent and asks me to _make love _to her.

I raise a brow, silently asking her if she knows just what she's about to give up, and she nods ever so slightly as she finishes in the same whisper; "…make love to me."

I pull my hands form my pockets and quickly lock the door behind me before I cross the room and slowly pull her shawl from her shoulders. She stares into my eyes as I run my palms up her arms to cup her face and I feel something deep inside me click into place. This is where I'm supposed to be. With this woman. For the rest of my life.

And the little minx knows it too. She's smiling like the Cheshire cat even though I'm the one who told her we wouldn't make it the week she wanted to sleep apart. I'm the on who told her that we'd break her 'no sex before marriage' stipulation (even though we'd broken that one years ago in the back seat of the limo I had bronzed – yes, the entire thing… she didn't think I'd do it either) the second I got to the Church.

But she'd wanted to try. So we'd tried. I'd even spent the last few nights sleeping in my old bedroom at my parent's penthouse (note to self: remove porn from under the bed before the maid – or worse, Lily – finds it) even though it nearly killed me. And I don't mean _that_ - see previous note to self; I'd become accustomed to falling asleep with the most beautiful woman in the world draped across my chest and waking up to her nuzzled against my neck.

Yes. Chuck Bass is a giant softie.

I press my lips against my bride's and feel her begin to slowly unzip my pants as her tongue darts out to taste mine.

Ok. Small…ah… _large_… amendment: Chuck Bass is a giant romantic.

And that is exactly how he plans on making love to his almost wife: romantically. She'll remember our slow lovemaking just minutes before our wedding for the rest of our lives. The way I slowly explored her mouth as I traced lazy circles to the exposed small of her back with the tips of my fingers. The way I held her gaze as I carefully helped her gather the yards of material keeping her most intimate of places from mine before I gently slid home. The way our bodies hummed in tune together as, fingers linked together we crested.

Because after I help her get fix into her gown and sneak back out of the room just seconds before my step mother, step sister, soon-to-be mother-in law, and best friend's fiancé (like I said, long story) rush through the door with their hands empty of whatever obscure object Blair no doubt sent them all in search of, she'll walk down the aisle to find Daniel Humphrey standing in the place I'd always pictured Nathaniel being up until the second I realize he'd seen Blair naked one too many times. (Yes, _once_ is one _**too**_ many.) I won't be able to pi…pee straight for a month, let alone enjoy hot, raunchy newlywed sex in every room of the French Vineyard I've bought her.

Or the weeks of seeing her walk around in nothing but lingerie that her crumbling will power (and a certain favourite cologne of hers I thought I'd lost, but had only left behind at Bart and Lily's the last time we snuck in to have sex in my old bedroom) have earned me.

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A/N - Slightly fluffy and 'gooey', but I wanted something a little softer after all the angst we've all been patiently waiting through on the show.

Lynne


	15. Rubber Chuckie, meet Mr Big

**Disclaimer: I own nothing.**

**A/N - I know. FINALLY. I appreciate the interest and thank you to everyone who encouraged me to finally get back to this. I hope it doesn't disappoint. Please let me know what you think.**

***You will have to reread "Rubber Chuckie". Or else you will be lost. I had to reread it several times myself. LOL.***

PS. Yes - the title is crap. Think of something better? Tell me!

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"Dude, are you even paying attention?"

Enough attention to know that you're riding a full house, Nathaniel.

"Yes," I reply absently.

"Umm...." Brooklyn stutters and I spare him a glance.

He looks confused instead of judgmental. I glance back at Nathaniel and discover that, yes, all is still right with the world and my blonde best friend (soon to be God father to my twin boys – and _yes_, I can just hear Blair rolling her eyes and protesting from our room down the hall) still looks as though the cards he's holding have mathematical equations written on them instead of numbers and suits.

"What?" I snap, because no matter that the man is technically my brother-in-law, he is still, and will always be, Humpty Dumpty the boring and tasteless Brooklynite. Best man at my wedding, or not.

Unless I'm drunk – which I never am – and even then (it was one time), he's only bumped up a rung to Brooklyn Dan.

Forrest Gump and Gin should not be mixed. And I still maintain that Blair slipped me something so that she could 'position' us a la Ross and Joey – her reference, not mine – to obtain the black mail photos I know that she has taped to the underside of our bed frame.

"You're phone," he tells me like I can't hear the damn thing buzzing and beeping incessantly myself.

It's my lovely bride. Again. I swear that woman will be the death of me. Which, yes, I know is the epitome of irony – Chuck Bass complaining about a hot, sexy, tight little....wanting me to...

I clear my throat and adjust myself as inconspicuously as I can because there suddenly is a _lot_ less room in the crotch of my custom tailored pants. Nathaniel catches me, and yes, the world _does_ begin to spin backwards just then because not only does he shoot me a knowing look (which I didn't even know he had in his arsenal), but he's attempting to hide a smirk – yes, _smirk, _and no, not a brooding scowl – with a none to subtle chin/jaw scratch/molestation.

It's hard to tell with him sometimes, really. Most often I catch him just starring off into space and running his fingertips along his own jawline. I think the action is supposed to be considered 'pensive'. Or at least that is what someone told him once, probably Poofy. Yes, Poofy. Punky Brewster has been upgraded. Or downgraded, as the case maybe.

I'm horny as _hell,_ I can not be expected to be fully coherent – much less _witty_ – while that much of my blood supply is, as my effing hot wife would say, in my 'little brain' instead of my 'big brain'. And yes, I still have the dent in my shin from the last time I made a crack about just how BIG my 'little' brain was, thank you very much. Whoever invented pointy-toed shoes in the first place should be drawn and quartered. No matter that they make her legs look like they go on for days... or that she sometimes will surprise me after a long day at the office in just her 'fuck me' heels and boustier...

"Ffff-ooey," I mumble half under my breath before I can catch myself. Nathaniel can't hide the smirk at that one. Even Brooklyn cracks a smile. I growl at them both, daring either one to say it – to say _anything_.

Nathaniel, apparently, does not value his life.

"Fffffffffoooooey?" he sing-songs. _Sing-songs._ I may be horny, but I'm not blind; there is definitely something up with Nathaniel Fitzwilliam Archibald. And yes, I'm ignoring the fact that they just caught me censoring myself – Gosh darn (God DAMN!) Blair and her "The babies can hear you!" "Man, did you really just say that!?"

Yes, I had. NO, I wasn't going to admit to it. "You need to have your ears checked, Nathaniel. I did nothing of the sort."

My phone beeps and buzzes in my front pocket again (yes, front pocket, and yes, you can probably figure out why. Women aren't the only ones who enjoy it when plastic vibrates near their privates. Oh, for ef's sake. 'Privates'? Really, Bass? She's not even in the effing room. Fucking! For God's sake just say fucking! Or cock! Fucking cock! Fu-...)

**I'm wet and ready and want it. NOW. **

I take it back, 'effing privates' is just fine. 'Effing privates' doesn't make me picture B's legs wrapped around my waits... or her mouth wrapped around my...

Oh, good lord.

**Please?**

I have half a mind to think she's developed some sort of superhuman mind reading ability, and from down the hall, no less. Using _that_ word _now. _But enough blood finally makes it to my 'big brain' for me to realize that, no, that isn't exactly possible. Which makes me wonder if she's broken bed rest and can see me, see that I'm about this close to ruining a pair of perfectly good pants. Or worse yet, give in.

-I'm sorry, baby -

And I am. I really, really, _really_ am. We haven't had sex in two years. (Or two weeks. Whatever. If you were to ask my balls, they would agree with the first estimate.) I'm sorry that I can't strut in there right this fu – effing minute and screw her sideways right into next week. I'm sorry that I can't devour her mouth while slowly massaging her breasts – not too roughly, they've been sensitive since her 35th week and I would rather lob off both by boys before putting her through a second of unnecessary pain – but with just enough pressure that it draws that breathy little sigh from her full, perfectly rounded lips. I'm sorry that I haven't been able to bury myself inside her all the way to the hilt since two weeks prior to the start of her imposed bed rest.

She thinks that I think that my weight a top her would hurt the boys and she'd laugh at me if she knew the real reason why I was holding back (literally), probably poke fun at my man hood and say that there was no possible way that I could reach that deep inside of her, deep enough to harm my boys. But I can't help it. Call it genetics, call it a caveman need to protect what is mine at all costs – which she would, by the way – but I have not been able to bring myself to fuck her lately the way I have wanted to do day and night since I bullied her into taking the pregnancy test in the first place.

There is just something about her when she's knocked up. When _I've_ knocked her up. She glows, and every time I catch her palm unknowingly making its way to rest against her stomach, to cradle our _boys_ – well, let's just that that if I ruined the pants I'm currently wearing by coming in them, which is becoming more and more of an imminent possibility, it wouldn't be the first time. I haven't gotten off by something other than my left hand in so long that I can barely see straight.

"Chuck?" Oh, yea. The card game, must be my turn to... hit? Stick? Pick up two? I suddenly for the life of me can't remember what the hell game it is that we are playing.

"Hmm?" I mumble, pretending to be seriously focused on making my next move, hoping that the lone brain cell that isn't currently picturing my wife naked and in the shower will be able to feed me the necessary information to properly play my hand in whatever game we are playing.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch the confused look that Nathaniel shoots Brooklyn. "Uhh..." he starts, but Brooklyn shrugs a shoulder in a way that I know he thinks to be passive and dismissing, but comes across looking like a monkey with Tourette's. In bad clothes.

I make a mental note to buy my niece a new wardrobe, which distracts Barney, my lonely brain cell, and whatever wisp of realization that was just beginning to take form disappears as he scrambles to find a pen and paper.

I think it may be poker. More often than not, it's poker. But my sister sometimes decides that Marcel (again with the friends reference – thanks, B, _really_) needs to tone down the gambling, and threatens to cut his hair if he doesn't comply with her demands. I over burden Barney with the addition of 'get Blair to bring Serena's threats into this century – or at least past puberty' and ' look up when the hell the crazy hormonal mood swings end in baby book' to the list. I can almost hear his slow, agonizing death.

This must be how Nathaniel feels.

"Uhm...." and I'm just about to make some half assed mumbled cross between 'gin/hit me/I fold' when my phone buzzes again in my pocket and Nathaniel randomly blurts something I hadn't been expecting.

(Ironic, I know – for more reasons than just the usual one, too.)

"Vanessa's pregnant." He's grinning like an idiot, or just grinning like Nathaniel, I guess.

Horny!Chuck is cranky to begin with, and if Nathaniel has gone and gotten his wife up the duff... well, he'd have to have been having sex with her to do it, now would he? I do not enjoy being horny as _hell_ and reminded of it constantly. And by Nathaniel no less. (Or being jealous of aforementioned getter-up-the-duffer.)

"That's great news, Man," I tell him, because I know they've been trying for a while now (despite the fact their kid is going to have the worst head of hair this side of the of the Pacific), and break out the bottle of Crystal I have stashed in the desk that we are currently using as a gin rummy/black jack/poker table.

My phone wiggles and sings again, reminding me that I have yet to take a peek at Blair's latest booty call text and I harden further because the amount of times I've heard the hum of her vibrator from down the hall over the last two weeks has turned me into one of Pavlov's dogs. But instead of drooling whenever I hear a bell, I pop a fucking boner whenever anything buzzes within a five mile radius of my dick.

I reluctantly fish my cell phone from my pocket.

**I need your help.**

I snicker. I'm sure she does.

I don't think so, Blair. Nice try. I'm not buying it. You've been ordered to remain flat on your back...

Oh, the mental image that would normally call to mind, but my amusement is quickly heading into worry as I realize that her text sounds less like a change in tactics and more like a genuine request.

But help with what? Arranging furniture? Contemplating the ceiling? Or...

Holy Fuck. Could she have...? No?! I had always pictured her waddling down the hallway to my office screaming about my spawn ruining her vintage night gown when her water finally broke and she went into labor. Not once had I pictured her calmly texting me that she needed my help.

It doesn't cross my mind as I mumble something about having to go and vault from my chair and race from the room, the sound of wood scrapping against wood echoing after me, that it could merely be her evil plan to lure me into her lair. If there is even the slightest of chances of her having gone into labor, I'm there. I don't want to miss a second of it. I want to be there from the very beginning, I want to see everything from the first twinge of pain in her eyes as the contractions hit to the very last as our boys are born.

Everything.

When the hell did this fucking hallway get so God damn long?

"Blair?" I pant when I finally burst through the door. "What's wrong? Are you alright? Is it time?"

She doesn't say anything, but she doesn't need to. I can tell by the position she's placed herself in that it was indeed just a well played ruse to lure me away from Nathaniel and Brooklyn and into her clutches: she's scooted down to the edge of the bed and has pulled her nightie up and her panties off and is currently tracing slow, tortuous circles around her clit.

I barely register that the low, animalistic growl is my own and not hers before my hands are suddenly wrapped around her ankles and I'm tugging her down the bed until her ass nearly hangs off the edge and am pushing my straining erection (that has somehow freed itself from my pants without me knowing it, it seems) deep inside of her.

And this is how it's supposed to be. Chuck and Blair; man and his woman. This is how it always should be.

I throw her ankles over my shoulder and grasp her hips tightly.

And I'm not thinking about the fact that I left Nathaniel and Brooklyn Dan high and dry or that I'm currently buried so deep inside my wife's heat that I past high hilt two inches ago; I can't even think about how fucking much I love the woman who's wrapped so tightly around me that it sometimes makes me wonder if she weren't made specifically for me, especially for this reason and this reason only. I can barely even remember to be gentle with the nipple that I'm tracing slow circles around, because she's making these breathy, needy little moans that I've never heard her make before. Extremely pregnant or not. It's sending lighting down my spine and curling my toes. Not to mention the pressure it's building in my balls.

I bend to kiss her hard on the lips because I'm seconds from emptying myself inside her and I want her lips pressed against mine when I do. She rocks her hips, drawing me even further into her – though I didn't think it possible, and I can feel her beginning to shatter around me.

My vision starts to fade, my cock hardens almost painfully, and then all I see are stars.

Vibrant, colourful, blindingly bright stars.

I cry out her name, my palm moving unconsciously to cup her extremely swollen abdomen, and then, as her walls begin to clench around me, something happens that I, Chuck Bass, have yet to experience in my vastly illustrious sexual career.

I come again.

Faster, harder, longer than I ever have before. Than I just did not one minute ago.

God, I love this woman.

And if I could form a single coherent thought in my head, I would make a mental note to keep her knocked up for the rest of our natural born lives.

Before my legs completely give out on me, I lean down to kiss a chaste kiss just bellow my palm on her belly, to our boys, and then to her lips before I collapse onto the mattress beside her.

"I guess you were right," I manage to say throw a yawn, "we didn't hurt the boys."

At least I don't think we did. But it's not like I'm ever going to ask them; "Boys, did you ever feel Daddy's peepee poke you while you were inside Mommy's tummy?"

I hear the mattress groan and creek (funny that I hadn't heard it, despite the ravenous display of acrobatics just carried out atop it, until just now) as she shifts her weight beside me. "No, we didn't hurt Bass or **_Waldorf,_**" she replies, and I have just enough energy left to shake my head and roll my eyes beneath my closed lids. "I told you you were just being silly, Chuck. Dr. George said it was perfectly safe to have sex this late in the third trimester."

But there is something about the way her voice isn't quite level and holds the slightest hint of what sounds like pain that has alarm bells going off in my brain.

"B? Baby, everything alright?" I barely even notice that the pet name has slipped past my lips because the twinge of pain that I had referenced earlier actually is in her eyes now. "Honey?" And she really would kill me for calling her that (and the hand that she's shot out to grab my fingers with, the one that is squeezing them like a vice grip, doesn't quite count – though I'm about half a second away from amending that verdict.) But she's too focused on drawing in what our Lamaze instructor would call 'deeply, sooooothing breaths.' Which, I can tell you, is bull shit. They aren't soothing either one of us.

"Uh, guys?" Nate steps tentatively into the room then, but I'm too busy pulling Blair to her feet and trying to grab for her clothes to realize that I'm still rather naked myself. "Do you need me to...uh... like, call an...um... ambulance?"

"Yes, Nathaniel, this is my penis. You have one two, only smaller. Please stop staring at it and help me get my wife to the hospital."

"Ambulance is on the way," Brooklyn cuts in from the doorway, where he, too, has suddenly appeared.

Where they listening at the door, for fuck sake? What the hell ever happened to privacy!

"Thank you, Dan." And I can't believe that that came out of my mouth. It might be the first time I have ever thanked Humphrey without it being dipped in sarcasm first, or called him by his actual name. But I don't have time to take it back or draw it out until it sounds more like 'Daniella', because Blair is squeezing my hand again and beginning to sound like she's hyper ventilating.

"It's ok, Waldorf," I slip into the old habit of calling her by her maiden name when distracted (ok, yes, by the minute amount of fear skittering down my spine), "they're on their way, Sweetie."

Nate shoots me a funny look, no doubt wondering when the hell I developed the need to call her every pet name in the book, and I glare at him. Which is how I end up flat on my face, having tripped over the shoe I hadn't even registered that I'd taken off to begin with. (The fact that my pants were still around my ankles had nothing to do with it, thank you very much.)

Everything happens in a blur after that. Blair screams as the pain rips through her belly, and without my hands to steady her through the contraction, she stumbles. Nate lunges forward and grabs her just as her knees give out, pulling her up into his arms and Dan, who somewhere in between me breaking my nose against our hardwood flooring and Nate playing superhero has managed to pull a blanket from the wooden chest at the end of our bed, wraps the blanket snuggly around my wife.

Dammit, I'm going to have to thank the bastard again, aren't I? Which is a hell of a thing to be thinking when you're laying face down with your bare ass still hanging out while your best friend and brother-in-law carry your very pregnant, and very much in labor, wife out your bedroom door.

"Aren't you coming, Bass?" I can barely hear Brooklyn (I'll thank him later, if I have to, but for now I'm content to focus on the atrocity he calls his fashion sense) over Blair's mix of frantic whimpers and enraged rantings on how she'll never let me touch her again.

"Yea," I reply, and he can actually hear me say it, because I've finally kick-started my brain enough to shove myself to my feet. But not enough to have yanked my pants into place until _after_ I stood there looking like an idiot for just long enough for Humphrey to also be jealous of Chuck Jr.

"I'm right behind you, Blair," I call after Nate's retreating form.

I just have to wipe my nose and change my shirt quickly before she sees the blood that has stained it. There is no way I am letting her worry about me for a second when she should be focused one hundred percent on herself. And seeing the blood would only send her into hysterics, and the book says that stressing the mother out – particularly during childbirth – is not good for the babies _or _the mother. I want my wife with me: happy and healthy and raising our boys.

It's something I haven't allowed myself to think about; the possibility of losing her during childbirth. And I refuse to think about it now.

I cross to the closet, grab at a random shirt, throw it over my head and jog back across the room to the closest night stand – which happens, by chance, to be Blair's – to stop the bleeding with as many tissues as it takes. And that is when I notice that the book she's been writing in furiously this past week is actually _my _Journal. (NO, not 'diary'. Diaries are for twelve year-old girls and men who wax their chests.) Or my fake journal, I should say. Pregnancy really does kill her brain if she thinks the one she found in a box in our attic marked "PRIVATE AND PERSONAL – KEEP OUT WOMAN" is the real thing.

Please, the real one is locked safely in the boys' nursery. And contains my latest entry. The one that lists everything that has ever been known to induce labor (sex...spicy food...the works); the one that lists recipes for the spiciest foods that I could find (because yes, I had believed the sex option to be too 'dangerous'.) The one that would allow her to put two and two together and realize that my bullshit line about her hormones altering her taste buds was just that – bullshit, and that there has indeed been quite a few spicy dishes on her plate as of late.

It also has the contract – or the amended contract, I should say, since I switched the terms around when she wasn't looking – regarding our birthday bet and the boys' middle names that has been singed by us both and notarized. Yes, notarized.

Because I know my wife. Bet Blair Waldorf she can't do something – like deliver the boys on any day but their **_actual_** due date – and she will find a way to do it, find a way to prove you wrong.

Come Hell, high water, or Chuck Bass.

* * *

A/N - If you are confused, Chuck bet her that she would deliver the twins (sex undetermine despite amount of times he calls them boys) on their actual due date, and if she did, he could give them their middle names. He had her sign a contract stating as much - or what she thought stated as much, but in reality he switched it so that if she delivered on any day BUT the dute day (which is what she tricked him into having sex with her for - to jump start labor) he wins.

Yes, complicated. Sorry. And, I am working on the next update so that you will FINALLY see the birth of the twins and FINALLY get to know their sex(es). Thank you for being super, super, SUPER patient. You all rock.

xoxo

Lynne


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